


Sworn Loyalty

by Potato_Lady



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, M/M, Mentor Voldemort (Harry Potter), Minor Original Character(s), Not Dark Harry, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Somewhat Good Voldemort (Harry Potter), and they do cool things with magic, magic is cool
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24842275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potato_Lady/pseuds/Potato_Lady
Summary: ‘Born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…’ Lord Voldemort hummed slightly as he mused over those words, ignoring his spy crouched low on the floor.-As eleven years passed without any sign of the Lost Prophecy coming to fruition, the Dark Lord of Wizarding Britain has stopped paying any mind to it, until he encounters a powerful green-eyed half-blood roaming the halls of Hogwarts at night.-Harry just wants to prove to his pure-blood year-mates that he, too, had what it took to become a Death Eater, and Marvolo had kindly offered to take him under his wing.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 133
Kudos: 845





	1. August 1986 - August 1991

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this in 2017, abandoned it for 3 years, came back to read it seeing as we're in the middle of a pandemic, only to realise my writing style had drastically changed, and then decided to rewrite the thing. I regret to say that I won't have any sort of regular updating schedule, I will finish the fic, but whether that day comes in a few months or in a few years, I can make no guarantee. Thank you for understanding.

* * *

_August 1986_

Like on any other day, six-year-old Harry Potter woke up to the shrill voice of his Aunt Petunia screeching for him to wake up and prepare breakfast for his relatives. He left his cupboard under the stairs and made his way to the kitchen to start on breakfast for the two whale-like humans sitting at the small dinner table, watching him disdainfully with their beady eyes.

With breakfast soon set on the table, the chatter and rustling of the newspapers died down for the disgusting sound of rapid chewing. A knock sounding on the door broke through the typical commotion of the breakfast table. Uncle Vernon glanced up from his plate, fork poised halfway between the plate and his gaping mouth. “Who could that be?” he demanded. He met Aunt Petunia’s equally quizzical expression and an ugly grimace that contorted his bulging face told Harry his displeasure at having his meal interrupted by an unexpected visitor. Uncle Vernon sent her a silent command to see to the door despite her hesitance. Dudley, who had been too busy stuffing his face with pancakes, did not notice the tense pause around him, only looking up in alarm as he heard his mother’s scream from the door.

A cloaked man and woman Apparated to the edge of a muggle suburb, going unnoticed by all its inhabitants through liberal use of Muggle-Repelling and Notice-Me-Not charms. The man retrieved a piece of parchment with the official Ministry seal stamped at the top from his pocket, the spell his companion had cast upon it a few hours prior to their arrival glinting with a name and address. 

_Mr. Harry James Potter_

_The Cupboard Under the Stairs_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

He once again frowned at the first address line. “It still says ‘The Cupboard Under the Stairs, ma’am,” he reported. When it had first appeared in shining, ruby ink, he had passed it off to simply be the boy’s current location. A little unusual, but nothing worth worrying about. Yet as he stood outside _4 Privet Drive_ , hours after the address had first appeared, he began to think the worst. It seemed that the boy’s permanent address truly was ‘The Cupboard Under the Stairs’. The lady beside him, dressed in the calming greens of a Ministerial Department of Magical Child Services officer, looked upon the parchment with a contemplative expression.

“You get the abused kind sometimes,” she sighed deeply as she glanced over the paper, “Never gets any easier though.”

He glanced from the parchment in his hand to the ‘4’ emblazoned on the front of a dull beige house. _This should be right_ , he thought, double-checking the red writing against the house before him. He had put an enormous amount of effort into locating a magical child in the muggle world. It was, after all, one of the final tasks he had to undertake as a Death Eater Initiate before receiving the Dark Mark. His current task supervisor walked ahead of him, towards the house. He clenched and unclenched his fist, moving with a confidence that did not align with his tremulous emotions. He assured himself that they could simply _Obliviate_ the muggles if he had accidentally located a muggle child.

She knocked on the door of _4 Privet Drive,_ while he stood off to the side, hoping and praying that he had not been mistaken. He would have to start the search all over again, and he had only another four months as an Initiate at the Academy. Not to mention the sheer embarrassment of having his supervisor judging him on the way back to the Ministry, and then having to report to his mentor that he had failed. After all, Barty had done for him, he wanted desperately to make the man proud. He snapped his gaze back up when the door creaked open, and a woman stuck her long neck beyond the half-opened door. Her face twisted into an ugly amalgam of loathing and fear, and she let out a shriek before stumbling back into the house. It took all his training as a future Death Eater to stop him from taking his own step back and showing the disgust he felt so prominently. His supervisor did not fare much better, her experience and professionalism forcing her expression to remain neutral. When the muggle tried to slam the door in their faces, he pushed ahead, holding his hand against the door, his superior strength winning out, and he forced his way into the doorway. The woman stumbled back further, her mouth moving rapidly as if she wished to say something, yet no sounds filled the air beside her harsh breathing. His companion squeezed past him in the narrow hallway.

“Is this the residence of Harry James Potter?” she asked stoically. He clamped down the wave of anxiety he felt.

“G-get out! We-” she gasped, “We do not want any more of you… you _freaks_ in our house!” They stared at the despicable woman. Was this muggle actually insulting them?

“By order of the Dark Lord, you are to release any and every magical child into the custody of the Ministry of Magic, or we will have no choice but to use force,” she warned.

“What’s going on here, eh? Don’t you know some folks want to have breakfast in peace?” A beast of a man ambled around the corner, and his face turned an ugly shade of puce before he bellowed, his body shaking in anger. “Get out of my house! We do not want any of _your kind_ here!” The man scrunched his fist together and took a step towards them in an effort to look threatening, but after having met some of the Inner Circle Death Eaters and _the Dark Lord_ , no muggle will ever match up. He whipped out his wand which made the man freeze and the woman shriek. His supervisor followed behind him calmly as he turned to push further into the house, the muggles trailing helplessly behind them, giving them a wide berth. He found the child immediately, grabbing the boy with a tumid body that whimpered for mummy, one hand still clutching his fork, by the shoulders. 

“Harry Potter?” His supervisor asked in a soothing tone. The boy in his hands started sniffling pathetically, shaking his bulbous head vigorously. He felt his stomach sink-- it looks like he had gotten something wrong. The muggle woman screamed in fear when she saw them surrounding the boy.

“No! Not my Dudley! Take the other boy!” she wailed desperately, “His parents were _freaks_ just like you, you can take him!” He let go of the rotund boy. 

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know! The stupid boy could have run away for all I care!” He turned to his supervisors in frustration, and she raised a brow, issuing him a silent test to find the boy as efficiently as possible. He swallowed, thinking. He could cast the _Imperius_ on the muggles and make them retrieve the child? No, they did not seem to know where he was either. Summoning charm? No, the boy might get hurt. He smiled when it occurred to him.

“ _Homenum Revelio,_ ” the spell located the four other people present… and a fifth person hidden under the dining table. He crouched down and found a young boy curled into himself, watching him in fear. At that moment, he was grateful he had not gone ahead with the Summoning charm, for the child would have smashed into the chairs positioned in front of him. He stood back up and nodded an affirmative to his supervisor.

“Well done, Hoplin.” She said simply, pulling the chairs away from the table. She sunk down to retrieve the boy, while he kept watch on the muggles around them. It took a while-- the boy refused to come out and pretended his name was not Harry Potter until the muggle man pulled him out from under the table roughly and shoved him towards them. 

He caught him and whispered in the boy’s ear, “We are not going to hurt you, Harry Potter.” The child looked at him with such hope shining in his bright emerald green eyes that it broke the Initiate’s heart. His supervisor glanced at them and gave a faint smile. She raised her arm, wand in hand, before saying clearly, “ _Obliviate.”_ He slipped out of the house with Harry Potter in tow as the bright flash of the Memory Charm filled the house behind him. 

When she caught up to them, he wondered, “What if someone asks about him? Wouldn’t it be suspicious if they just forgot about his existence?”

“I didn’t just erase their memories, Hoplin,” she explained, “I implanted new ones after removing their current memories. If anyone asks, Harry Potter was sent to live with his paternal relatives in London.

“How do you erase someone’s memories?” asked a meek voice beside them. The Ministry Official smiled softly at the small boy. 

“I promise we will explain everything very soon, but we’ll need to go somewhere safe first, alright?” She patted his head when Harry Potter nodded bravely. “Good. Now hold my hand, Harry. In a moment, you’ll feel like you’re being sucked through a straw, I don’t want you to panic, okay? Everything will be fine,” she saw the boy swallow but nod once again, and she smiled a little broader. True enough, Harry felt the distinctly uncomfortable sensation of being compressed and thrown around, until his feet struck the ground in an unfamiliar location at an odd angle and he collapsed, feeling exceptionally nauseous. He felt the nice lady rubbing his back as he was hunched over, dry-heaving slightly. After he recovered, he straightened and looked around, finding himself in a grand entrance hall. He jumped when a group of eccentrically dressed people appeared suddenly with a ‘crack’.

“Where are we?” he asked shyly, rather in awe of the architecture around him as he was led through the atrium and into one of the lifts at the far end. It took them up quickly, and they stepped out when an amplified voice announced, “Level Three: Department of Magical Child Services”. They walked down a long hallway while the lady answered his question 

“We’ve returned to the Wizarding World, Harry. This is the Ministry of Magic.” At Harry’s confused look, she elaborated, “This is where people decide how to take care of everyone else and help children like you.” When they reached a door labelled ‘Leila Travers’, with ‘Senior Child Retrieval Officer’ engraved on the metal plaque, she paused and pushed the door open to reveal an office with paper memos fluttering around her desk. She gestured to a chair on one side of the desk for Harry to sit, while the man that came with them remained standing at the side of the desk.

“Children like me?” he repeated, curious.

“Yes, Harry. We’re magical folk, you and I. I'm what you call a witch because I can use magic.” 

Harry frowned, his little face scrunched up as he thought about what was being said. “Am I a w-witch too, then?” he stuttered innocently. Harry turned around when the kind man that was with him at the Dursleys' laughed at him, but he didn’t think it was the mean kind of laughter, like how Dudley would laugh when his Aunt or Uncle scolded or hit him. 

“You’re a wizard, kid; Gentlemen, like you and I, are wizards, and ladies, like Madam Travers here, are witches.” Harry stared at him, his mouth shifting as if he wanted to speak, until finally, he stuttered out, “I-I’m a wizard? I can do... magic?”

“Have you ever made things happen? Things you can’t explain?” Harry thought back to the times he willed his cupboard door to open even though it was bolted shut from the outside. That time he ended up on a roof after a particularly vicious round of getting chased by his cousin and the other neighbourhood kids. He nodded in agreement at the man’s anticipatory look.

“Harry, I’ll need you to answer a few questions for me honestly, is that alright?” Harry agreed, and Madam Travers smiled and waved a stick. Suddenly, a piece of parchment and a quill floated up and started scribbling when she asked him questions.

“What is your full name?”

“Harry James Potter,” he answered, articulating each word carefully.

“When is your birthday?”

“July 31st, 1980.”

“What were the names of your parents?”

“I... I don’t know,” Harry said hesitantly after a long silence. The quill paused in the air. 

“That’s alright, Harry. Who have you been staying with for the past six years?”

“My Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon,” came the reply, “And my cousin Dudley,” he added.

“And do they treat you well?” Harry’s eyes suddenly filled with tears, the emotional chaos of the day catching up with him at the reminder of his relatives that tossed him away to strangers, even if they were very nice strangers and he found out he was actually a wizard. He hid his face and shook his head quickly, afraid to admit anything aloud. He blinked his tears away and tried to swallow the lump forming in his throat. “You don’t have to tell me anything, Harry. I’ll find someone you can talk to, okay?”

“Okay,” he acknowledged shakily.

* * *

_July 1991_

Over his next few years in Primary School, Harry learnt all he needed to survive in a society filled with pure-bloods and half-bloods that have known only the Wizarding World. He discovered that he actually had magical parents, a pure-blood and a muggle-born, and was himself a half-blood. 

Harry had found himself shuffling from place to place before finally settling down in Egladus Institution in the initial weeks after leaving the Dursleys. He had met more nice people, like Miss Cassidy, who Madam Travers introduced to him. She would spend a few hours every week just talking to him about anything at all. Sometimes it was about the awesome magic he saw being performed that day, other times, they spoke of his life with the Dursleys. He didn’t miss them at all, but he did miss the first few friendly faces he met in the Wizarding World, and he smiled slightly when his thoughts drifted into the past when he first heard he had to move in.

_“Tyler!” he exclaimed when he saw the man that had rescued him talking to Madam Travers. Tyler waved to him and left Madam Travers’ side._

_“Hey kid,” he greeted, ruffling Harry’s already messy black hair, making Harry giggle. “I’m bringing you to your new home today,” Harry made a face, and Tyler quickly reassured him, “It’s a great place, you’ll make lots of good friends. I grew up there, you know.” Tyler continued when Harry gave him his attention. “It’s called Egladus Institution. It’s a huge place, full of dorms, and there’s also the Primary School you’ll be attending there. You’ll finally get to learn to use magic, isn’t that exciting?” Harry gave a noncommittal shrug._

_“What’s wrong?”_

_“But you and Madam Travers and Miss Cassidy won’t be there,” he said softly, somewhat petulant._

_“Oh Harry, we’ll still see each other! And don’t worry, you’ll continue to see Miss Cassidy every week. No one is abandoning you.”_

_As he had moved into his dorm room, a few curious faces watched as he put his belongings on the unoccupied bed in the room. He later found out his dorm-mates were three other boys called Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Justin Finch-Fletchley._

After five years of magical education, Harry could barely remember what the muggle world was like. He loved magic, and the Wizarding World had made his life infinitely better. Learning about Wizarding Britain and its leaders heightened his respect for the Dark Lord and the government under his command. Harry agreed most strongly with the stringent enforcement of the International Statute of Secrecy-- he would never wish the magic-hating Dursleys on even his worst enemy.

Harry tried not to let his mind wander. It was the day of his TAILs I; the first of the two iterations of the nerve-wracking Test of Ability, Intelligence, and Loyalty. He hoped with fervour that he would be able to get into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It has been his goal since he discovered it was the only school future Death Eaters came out of. Harry wrung his hands as he sat outside the examination room and almost jumped when the examiner poked her head out of the room and said, “Mr. Potter? We’re ready for you now. Come in.” He walked in, drawing a deep breath, sitting stiffly in the chair opposite two Ministry officials. On the desk, there was a small vial of clear liquid, barely bigger than his palm, and a wordy piece of parchment with a quill atop it.

“Good morning, Mr. Potter,” greeted one of the examiners as she picked up the bottle. “This is _Veritaserum_ , it makes whoever who drinks it unable to speak anything but the truth. It is required for the examination. Please sign the contract in front of you to provide your consent to this test.” Harry nodded, clenching his fist to quell his nerves. He picked up the quill next to the parchment, reading through it quickly, and signed at the bottom of the consent form. He had nothing to hide after all. Except for perhaps the fact he played the prank on Justin that left him with a great fear of heights… Harry tried not to panic; there was no way they would know his involvement with that! They didn’t have time either!

Harry accepted the _Veritaserum_.

* * *

_August 1991_

This was it. It was the day his results would be released. Harry could feel the apprehension buzzing among the students milling about in the hall. He scanned the room, finding his friends huddled together at the side of the hall. They were whispering about something.

“...they came last night and took her away-” Seamus said in a conspiratorial tone.

“How do you know for sure? It’s just a rumour,” Justin asked, skeptical.

“We haven’t seen her all day. And Hermione confirmed it-” Seamus insisted, ready to continue his story, but Dean interrupted this time.

“Hermione? Hermione doesn’t listen to rumours, and if Lisa was really taken away, she wouldn’t be talking-”

“Lisa was taken away? Lisa Turpin?” Harry interjected, confused and fearing the worst. 

“Oh, hey Harry,” Dean greeted and then turned to fix Seamus a disbelieving look, “That’s what Seamus says but I think it’s just rumours.”

Seamus groaned in frustration, “It’s true! Hermione was really upset when I asked her about Lisa. Got all teary and then she ran off!”

“So? She still didn’t confirm anything!” Justin argued. The three of them continued bickering about what Hermione’s reaction meant about the fate of Lisa Turpin, but Harry felt a little stab of fear through his chest. Someone he knew had been found disloyal and taken away. He hadn’t known her very well, she had come in much later than the rest of them, and she was quiet and always looked like she had something weighing heavily on her mind, but they had still spent two years as year-mates in school. He had smiled at her when they passed each other by in the corridors. He had heard her chatting softly with the other girls in their year. And now she could be gone, taken to Merlin knows where. Logically, he knew that it made sense, but only when rebels and traitors were faceless, nameless monsters that fought pointlessly against the stability of the Dark Lord’s rule. Lisa Turpin didn’t fit the hulking, black silhouette of a rebel in his mind. 

Harry walked towards the front of the hall, deciding he didn’t want to hear their speculations about Lisa Turpin any longer. He spotted a bushy-haired girl sitting on one of the many chairs in the hall, and walked up to her, tapping her shoulder.

“I’m not telling you anything, Seamus! I would appreciate it if you would leave me alone!” Hermione said, her voice wavering slightly.

“It’s not Seamus, ‘Mione,” said Harry softly, his concern for his friend, and fear making his stomach lurch. Hermione turned around.

“Oh! Harry,” Hermione said, as she tried to smile but it came out a grimace, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you, it’s just,” she sighed, “Seamus won’t stop asking about… about Lisa,” her voice caught in her throat and she took a deep breath, “and I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“I understand. I left when they kept talking about it too,” he pointed his chin to where Dean, Justin, and Seamus were still huddled together. They sat in companionable silence for a while, until Hermione broke it.

“I just thought I knew her, you know? I told her that I wanted to join the Ministry when I’m older, and she seemed so happy for me,” Hermione took a shuddering breath, and Harry placed a hand on her shoulder. “And now I find out she doesn’t even support the Ministry or the Dark Lord,” she lamented. 

Their conversation was cut short by the arrival of the teachers, each holding a stack of parchment. _Their results_ , Harry realised, following their movement nervously. The hall fell into a muted buzz of chatter following a noisy scramble to settle down into their designated seats. The Principal, a no-nonsense, no-fanfare woman announced in a magically-projected voice, “Good Morning, students. Please rise to recite The Oath.” The chairs scraped noisily against the floor as they all stood and recited the pledge in tandem. After the last words we dutifully uttered, they took their seats again. 

“You should all be seated with your classmates in front of your Head Teachers. You will collect your results when your name is called. I wish you all the best.” There was some polite applause as the Principal left the stage, and Harry’s teacher Mrs. Hogan, began down the name-list alphabetically by their last names. It took a while to get to Harry, his nerves making him jittery as he watched more and more of his classmates receive their results, some hugging their friends in joy, while others slinked back to their seats in disappointment. Hermione had, as expected, gotten straight Os, but her joy still seemed undermined by her lingering fear and sadness over Lisa Turpin. 

“Mr. Potter!” Mrs. Hogan smiled as he took the envelope from him, whispering an encouraging “well done” at him. Harry accepted it with gratitude. He peeled the envelope open carefully, pulling out the parchment and unfolding it. It read:

**_TEST OF ABILITY, INTELLIGENCE, AND LOYALTY I_ **

**_(TAIL I)_ **

**CANDIDATE NAME:** HARRY J. POTTER

**AGE (as of 1st Sep 1991):** 11 

**SEX:** M 

**BlOOD STATUS:** HALF-BLOOD 

**TESTING VENUE:** EGLADUS INSTITUTION (PRIMARY SECTION) 

**SECTION I:** **_ABILITY AND INTELLIGENCE_ **

_Wizarding Culture and Traditions: O_

_Basic Wizarding History: E_

_Basic Wand Handling: O_

_Basic Magic: O_

**SECTION II:** **_LOYALTY_ **

_The examiners,_ _F. H. Macmillan and Q. Evanders (Department of Magical Education)_ _, have tested and found the candidate named above_ _LOYAL_ _and can testify that the candidate_ _ HAS _ _taken his/her Oath of Fealty._

Harry flipped to the page quickly finding the explanations of the grading system, and he swallowed his disappointment at having failed to obtain Os in all his subjects. He hoped that the glaring ‘E’ on the parchment would not indicate the end of his journey in becoming a Death Eater. Behind the first two sheets of parchment, he found the attached Annex detailing the next phase of his education. His heart pounded as he looked through the page rapidly. His heart sank momentarily when he saw his first two eligible schools until his eyes drifted further down, and he grinned when he saw the last school listed. 

**ELIGIBLE SCHOOL(S):**

  * AGARANE SCHOOL OF MAGICAL TRADES _(All courses)_
  * EGLADUS INSTITUTION (HIGHER MAGICAL STUDIES SECTION)
  * HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY



_Please indicate your choice of school and course (where applicable) in the table below._

_Please note that you are NOT guaranteed admission to the school of your choice._

_Duly completed forms should be submitted through your Primary School or Owled to the following address by_ **_10/08/1991_ ** _:_

**_School Admissions Office_ **

**_Higher Magical Education Branch_ **

**_Department of Magical Education_ **

**_Ministry of Magic_ **

**_LATE APPLICATIONS WILL NOT BE ENTERTAINED._ **

_You will be informed of your posting via Owl on **17/08/1991**. _

Harry returned to his seat, flashing Hermione a smile. “You’re eligible for Hogwarts?” she asked, already knowing the answer. 

“Yeah!” He couldn’t wait to tell Tyler about his results! Harry could still hardly believe it himself. Of course, he still worried he wouldn’t be accepted, but that didn’t matter. He will become a Death Eater even if it was the last thing he did. 


	2. August 1991 - September 1991

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Harry goes school supply shopping and i accidentally write a history essay

* * *

_August 1991_

Harry was awoken that morning by two owls scraping at the window of his dorm. They must have been there for a while, because they almost seemed to be glaring at him when he saw them. Harry looked around his room, seeing Seamus, Dean and Justin still fast asleep. Harry sighed in annoyance, dragging himself out of bed to open the window for the owls. They fluttered in, landing on the inner windowsill. The first one stuck its claw out haughtily, and Harry hastily untied the only letter off it, and three off the second one. The owls flew back out the window once their delivery was complete. He picked up the letter addressed to him, letting out a whoop of joy when he saw the red wax seal with a lion, snake, badger and eagle surrounding a letter ‘H’ stamped over the envelope flap. Justin groaned at the interruption to his sleep.

“Wh-” he cleared his throat, “Why are you awake?” Justin asked groggily. 

“School letters! I’ve got all of yours here,” he picked up the stack of three letters. Justin sat up in interest, padding over to the windowsill to take his own letter. He opened his own and unfolded his letter. He gazed through it briefly and sighed in relief.

“Thank goodness. Got pretty worried yesterday night; wasn’t sure if I could continue at Egladus,” Justin folded his letter back up and peeked over Harry’s shoulder to see his letter. “You got into Hogwarts!” Justin exclaimed, gaping at him, “What does it say?”

Harry looked at his letter again, reading it aloud, “ _Dear Mr. Potter, we are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment... Term begins on 1st September... Yours sincerely, Amycus Carrow, Deputy Headmaster._ ”

“Wow...” Justin muttered, “Bet Hermione got in as well... you two were worrying about nothing.” Harry shrugged, smiling at his friend. “Congrats, mate. You deserve it,” Justin said, punching him gently in the shoulder. Justin turned around to find their two dorm-mates still sound asleep. A sly grin crept onto his face, and he turned back to Harry, whispering, “What do you say we wake them up with a _bang_?” Harry snickered.

By the time lunch had come around, Seamus and Dean had stopped glaring at the two of them. Harry thought they were probably plotting their revenge for the stunt he pulled with Justin this morning. He would have to watch out for Gobstones placed under his comforter tonight. He did not want to get his sheets covered in Gobstone goop. He quickly finished his meal, excited to meet Mrs. Hogan in ten minutes for updates.

The few of them left the dining hall together, meeting up with Hermione and a few other girls along the way to their classroom. Lessons were officially over for them until they started the next year, but their Head Teacher had to see them to prepare them for the next step in their education. They settled down when she strode in, getting straight to business. “Good afternoon, everyone! This shouldn’t take long; I will simply have to arrange a few trips for some of you to obtain your school supplies- Ah, before that,” she pulled out the register which now included the schools they were posted to. “Has everyone received an owl from your new school?” There were dutiful nods, and no one raised their hand.

“Wonderful! I’m glad to know that I will continue seeing many of you around next year...” she hummed softly, “Miss Granger and... Mr. Potter! I will be bringing the two of you to Diagon Alley next Monday to purchase your school supplies,” she looked between the two of them, smiling at Hermione’s eager nodding. 

“Miss Moon... Mr. Rivers and Mr. Wilson,” she called out, “We will be going to Agarane School directly for your supplies this Thursday.”

“As for the rest of you, all your school supplies will be available in Egladus. You should have an appointment between tomorrow and the 24th to purchase your wand. A teacher will be around to guide you. Any questions?” The meeting ended soon after with the students released back to their own devices. Harry waited with bated breath for next Monday to arrive. 

Within ten minutes of their arrival at Diagon Alley, they had already managed to deviate from the schedule as Hermione gravitated towards Flourish and Blotts and managed to evade Mrs. Hogan amidst the towering shelves of books every time she attempted to pull them out of the bookstore. Hermione was nearly devastated to discover the money they would be receiving was the bare minimum needed for their education at Hogwarts, and that, no, she could not buy the stack of books in her hands for ‘light reading’. Harry, too, looked longingly at some of the non-prescribed texts on the shelves. Mrs. Hogan caved when Hermione agreed to put the books away, eyes glistening slightly with tears she stubbornly refused to shed.

“Alright, _one_ book, Hermione. A present from me for your acceptance to Hogwarts. You too, Harry,” Hermione looked surprised, and then she beamed, rushing around the shelves with such familiarity Harry would have thought she grew up in the shop. Harry wandered deeper into the store and pulled out one of the books he had set his sights on, when he found Mrs. Hogan again, Hermione had already returned with a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ gripped close to her chest.

“Oh! You’re getting _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_! You’ll have to let me read that one day, we can do a swap!” The shopkeeper chuckled at her enthusiasm.

“You’re going to Hogwarts, Miss; the library there is nearly unparalleled in Britain. You’ll find anything you could possibly want to read there and more,” he explained, as he handed each of them the tall stack of mostly second-hand school books and Mrs. Hogan’s present. The bag had a Weightless Charm upon it, allowing them to take it effortlessly. They thanked the kind man, and Mrs. Hogan guided them to do the rest of their shopping. 

“Only your wands left, then. Ollivander’s is just down the Alley.”

Mr. Ollivander was one of the most intriguing people Harry had ever met. The wandmaker had seemingly materialised from the back of his shop, scaring the living daylights out of them both. He greeted Mrs. Hogan with a recitation of her wand specifications, and told Harry about his parents’ wands, which left them both gaping. “But let’s not dwell on the past; We’re looking for new wands today! As usual, ladies first, Miss Granger.” Hermione didn’t even think to ask how he knew her name. Mrs. Hogan guided Harry out of the shop to wait his turn. 

Less than ten minutes later, Hermione stepped out of the shop happily with her 10¾ inches vine wood wand with a dragon heartstring core. Harry wasn’t sure why, but he was suddenly quite nervous as he stepped into the shop. 

Harry seemed to be taking an inordinately long amount of time to find the right wand, and he was beginning to grow even more anxious. It didn’t help that Mrs. Hogan had stepped in after the first fifteen minutes lapsed to ask if everything was alright. Ollivander seemed to grow livelier and livelier as each minute passed, assuring Mrs. Hogan with a, “Oh yes, it is going quite wonderfully, Faustine!” Harry looked at her helplessly, cognizant of the growing stack of boxes on the counter. She gave him an encouraging smile, but left the shop once more. Harry turned back to accept the next wand held out by Ollivander. It was snatched away _again_ as the man muttered to himself, “No, no, that won’t do at all!” 

“Try this one, Mr. Potter. Nine inches ebony with a phoenix feather core. Springy.” Harry grasped it wearily, but his interest was peaked when he felt the slightest tingling of warmth that bloomed where his hand rested against the smooth dark wood and slowly right down to his chest. Harry looked at Ollivander in surprise. _That was underwhelming_ , he thought rather miserably. But the wandmaker took it away from him gently, his expression one of contemplation. “I wonder…” he trailed off, rushing back to the shelves upon shelves of wands. This time, he disappeared for much longer than his previous expeditions into the back of his shop, leaving Harry to count the number of tried wands deposited unceremoniously on the counter. 

Harry had just reached 24 wands when Mr. Ollivander reemerged with the dustiest box of all. He opened it slowly. “Here we are, Mr. Potter; Holly with a phoenix feather core, 11 inches precisely. Nice and supple.” The moment Harry touched the wand, he felt a great sense of _rightness_ and happy red and green sparks flew out of the wand to dance in the still air of the shop..

“Wonderful! Simply wonderful!” Ollivander exclaimed. His excitement faded quite suddenly, and he muttered, “Curious… Very curious…”

Thrown off by the sudden shift in mood, Harry asked cautiously, “Sorry, but what's curious?” Ollivander started, as if he had completely forgotten that Harry was still in the shop. 

“I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr. Potter. I remember your parents’ wands, your teacher’s wand and even the Dark Lord’s. It is curious, young Mr. Potter, that the phoenix that gave your wand its feather, gave just one other… You must remember, Mr. Potter, that the wand chooses the wizard. Yes… 13½ inches, yew, a phoenix feather core. The brother to your wand,” Harry blinked, _wands can have brothers?_

“When I discovered what became of its owner, I expected your wand to never choose a witch or wizard.” Mr. Ollivander stared at him, but Harry didn’t think he saw him at all. “Brother wands are most peculiar— once one of them has chosen its wielder, its brother will only choose one with a similar magical signature. It is why many brother wands end up in families.” He explained softly.

“The owner of the brother wand had one of the most wondrous magical signatures I’ve ever encountered… I didn’t think I would ever find a customer like that again,” Ollivander’s eyes finally seemed to see Harry again, “Yet here you are, holding this wand...” 

“...And who... was the owner?” Harry asked carefully. 

The wandmaker looked so incredibly serious Harry almost thought he might be afraid. “We do not speak his name, Mr. Potter,” he whispered. Harry swallowed, thinking he should probably know who Mr. Ollivander was talking about, and he blinked in bemusement. They stared at each other, until the old man bowed abruptly, letting him know that the cost of the wand would be charged to his school. Harry tucked the wand back into its box and left the shop, his mind whirling in disbelief. Thankfully Hermione and Mrs. Hogan seemed to pass it off as fatigue after a day of shopping and a difficult time purchasing a wand. Harry didn’t tell them what Mr. Ollivander had told him.

* * *

_September 1991_

Harry had awoken so early on the first day of September, he was fighting back yawns as he and Hermione found an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express, putting their satchels on the seats to claim them. Their trunks have already been hauled into the train’s storage compartments. When they sat down, Hermione immediately began talking about Hogwarts.

“So, I’ve finished reading my copy of _Hogwarts: A History-_ ”

Harry gaped, “Hermione, that’s thicker than half our school-books!” She shrugged dismissively.

“That’s not important. Have you thought about what house you’ll be in yet?” Harry opened his mouth to answer but Hermione continued, “Did you know that the house that produced the most Death Eaters and Ministry officials is Slytherin? It sounds like the best house by far. The Dark Lord himself was a Slytherin. But I suppose Ravenclaw or Gryffindor doesn’t sound too bad either…”

“How do they sort us?” Harry asked, curious. 

“That’s the thing! I’ve read the entire book,” she griped, picking up the back cover of the book and letting the pages cascade down, “And there isn’t any mention of how we’re sorted!”

“Oh… Tyler said it was a tradition to keep it a secret. I guess even the author thinks so,” Harry commented, thinking back to the times he begged the Death Eater Initiate to tell him stories about his time in Hogwarts. Hermione sighed and shrugged slightly, putting _Hogwarts: A History_ away in favour of one of the prescribed textbooks. Harry followed her lead, but he chose to pull out the book Mrs. Hogan bought him instead. Flipping to a random page, he began to read.

**_The Great Wizarding War: Battle of Hogwarts_ **

_The Battle of Hogwarts (sometimes referred to as The Final Battle) marked a turning point of the Order’s role from a formidable faction of the War to an insurgency against the Dark Lord’s newly established administration. This conflict tipped the balance of power decisively into the Dark Lord’s favour with the decimation of the Order of the Phoenix and the death of their leader, Albus Dumbledore._

_By early May of 1981, Wizarding Britain had grown war-weary. The percentage of wizarding families and individuals choosing to remain neutral in the long conflict had reduced to just 16% of the total magical population, and as the War drew to its conclusion, the Dark Lord’s faction held the majority support of magical families in Britain, gaining access to their considerable influence and resources. On the dawn of 24 August 1981, the Order of the Phoenix made a final stand against the Dark Lord’s forces at Hogwarts School. It would prove to be their most fatal mistake._

_Through an immense counterintelligence operation that began in June 1981, the Order had been led to believe that the day would see little action bar Death Eater scouts. According to Order intelligence relayed by spies, the belief held was that the true battle was still at least two weeks out. The defense parameters set up around the Castle consisted mainly of detection wards and the latent Anti-Apparition and defensive wards had not seen a concerted effort in strengthening. The Order had been vastly unprepared and under-powered to face a concentrated attack by the best of the Dark Lord’s forces. When the first groups of Death Eaters had apparated to a weak spot in the wards by the Forbidden Forest, it had taken the Order nearly 10 minutes to respond. They arrived to find themselves facing nearly two hundred Death Eaters led by the Dark Lord. It was clear from the very beginning that the Death Eaters outnumbered the Order 12 to 1, and those odds only grew in the Dark Lord’s favour._

_The ensuing battle took place mostly on the vast grounds of Hogwarts, though as the battle progressed, the Death Eaters managed to push back the Order, cornering them in the Great Hall. It was rare for Dumbledore to make an appearance in battle himself, but as his headquarters were stormed, Dumbledore, then 99 years of age, engaged the Dark Lord in their legendary final duel. The recounts by various distinguished Death Eaters spoke of the raw power and speed in which spells were exchanged, silent bar for the spells flying through the air, and ending with the disarmament of Dumbledore. An exchange between the leaders of opposing factions took place, almost cordial in nature; upon the utterance of his final words, Dumbledore had unexpectedly received a nod of acknowledgement from the Dark Lord, the mark of a dueller’s regard for their fallen opponent. The Killing Curse was casted, giving the leader of the Order of the Phoenix a merciful death._

_The Order, still reeling from the shocking loss of their leader, grew disorganised from the blow to morale. The Death Eaters had quickly been able to apprehend less experienced Order members, while infamous long-time members fled the scene. By midday, the Dark Lord had taken Hogwarts as a stronghold, and without the rallying strength of Albus Dumbledore, the Order scattered into a loose collection of insurgent forces._

Harry looked up from his book when he heard banging on their compartment door. He looked at Hermione quizzically-- Who could that be? When he opened the door, he found a slightly taller boy wearing red-trimmed robes with a loose red and gold tie. A mean smirk that spread on his face when he sized Harry and Hermione up.

“Get out, firsties. This compartment’s for Gryffindors only.” If he was expecting them to be cowed by his brazen behaviour, he was wrong.

“There’s no such thing,” Hermione rebuffed incredulously, “According to _Hogwarts: A History,_ all the compartments on-”

“Oh, shut it you little know-it-all. Get out of this compartment or I’ll-” his threat was interrupted by another boy’s shouting from farther down the cabin.

“Cormac! Quit bullying people; I found an empty one!” ‘Cormac’ shot them a sneering look before slamming the door back in their faces and disappearing from behind the window affixed to the door.

“Well,” Hermione huffed, more than a little miffed at the interruption. “He certainly was rude. I don’t think I like Gryffindor so much anymore.” Harry nodded, watching the compartment door. This time, they did the smart thing and locked the door. Sure, it could be easily unlocked with a spell, but it made them feel slightly better.

Soon, they both drifted off to sleep, the gentle rocking of the train and the soothing greenery rushing past them lulled them into a light slumber. They were awoken by an announcement blaring through the train, “We will be arriving at Hogsmeade Station in ten minutes. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be brought directly to your dormitories. Thank you.” 

When they finally arrived, they disembarked the train easily and the first thing they heard was a man’s voice calling out, “First Years, over here, please!” Harry and Hermione made their way over to where the voice was coming from, pushing through the throng of older students walking in the opposite direction. A few First Years were already there, nervousness written across their faces. One of them smiled in an uncertain manner at him and Hermione. As more and more students arrived, the man at the front did a quick headcount. Once satisfied, he gave the instruction to follow him, leading them to the edge of a big lake glittering with the reflection of the moon and stars of the Scottish countryside. 

“No more than five to a boat, please. We don't want any accidents before you even start school.” Hermione and Harry got into one boat, which they shared with a pair of twins and another boy. For the most part, the journey across the lake was uneventful, until they saw _it_ , Hogwarts’ grandeur amazed all the First Years, and they oohed and ahhed as more of the magnificent castle, illuminated by flickering candlelight, came into view. When they finally reached shore on the other side, they were led in through a towering entrance and into a magnificent hallway. It was there when the teacher that led them there spoke.

“Welcome to Hogwarts School. I am Professor Amycus Carrow and I will be your Magical Arts Professor. In a moment, you will enter the Great Hall where you will be sorted into the four houses. They are Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. Your triumphs will earn you house points, whilst any rule-breaking will result in a deduction of points, detention, suspension or expulsion. At the end of the year, the house with the most points will win the House Cup,” he paused, ensuring that the message was received by the group of new students before him. “Your house will be your second family for the next seven years; I suggest that you be on friendly terms with your potential housemates. Please wait here and make yourselves presentable.” He instructed, eyeing a few students around the hall. He then turned and strode off in the direction of the intricate double doors at the end of the corridor. 

With his disappearance behind the door, a blond boy said casually to a thick boy next to him, “I cannot believe we have to attend school with _mudbloods_. I should get Father to ban all of the filth from Hogwarts,” Though it was only really directed to his friend, the silence of the entrance hall had ensured that every First Year student heard the blonde’s words loud and clear. There were murmurs of agreement, but also more than a few uncomfortable stares. 

Professor Carrow returned, and the room fell silent once more. He frowned at them, pursing his lips as he surveyed some of the more unkempt students. “Follow me.” He led them down where he came from and they were brought into the Great Hall. In the front right before the teacher’s high table was a stool with a rather dirty hat sitting on it. Harry looked at Hermione, but his attention was drawn back to the hat as a seam appeared on its own and it began _singing_. When it finished its amusing yet informative rhyming song, the Hall broke into applause. Professor Carrow watched all this in disinterest, unrolling the scroll of parchment in his hands. “When I call your name, come forward and put the hat on,” he glanced down at the list, calling out, “Abbott, Hannah!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!” There was resounding applause from the table on the far left, and the Sorting went on like this, down the list in the Professor’s hand. 

After a while, he called, “Granger, Hermione!”

“RAVENCLAW!” It had taken quite a while, but when her house was announced, Harry clapped enthusiastically at the proclamation, and Hermione beamed at him, walking happily towards a house clad in blue-trimmed robes.

“Malfoy, Draco!” The blond boy from earlier sauntered forward confidently and before the hat even touched his head, it shouted out, “SLYTHERIN!” The table on the far right applauded loudly to welcome the boy. Harry watched the Sorting continue nervously, until-

“Potter, Harry!” He walked up hesitantly as his name was called out and sat on the stool, the hat slowly lowering onto his head. Immediately, he heard a voice and understood why so many of his yearmates before him jumped when the hat touched their heads.

“ _Well, what do we have here then, hmm? Very loyal, not a bad mind either; there’s plenty of courage and you have a penchant for being impulsive in you. But you do not want Gryffindor, do you? You’re thinking of the boy you met on the train… Hmm… You have a thirst for knowledge, but it stems from your deeper ambitions and a desire to prove yourself. Very interesting… Any preferences?”_

Harry frowned. “Not really,” he whispered to the Hat. 

The Hat chuckled in his mind. “ _Never thought I’d see the day a Potter doesn’t ask to be sorted into Gryffindor… Hmm… You have the potential to be great, you know, and the house that will help you on your way to greatness is..._ SLYTHERIN!” The last word was said aloud to applause from the green-clad table while the rest of the school gave polite claps. Harry slipped in beside a boy whom he recalled from the Sorting to be Theodore Nott, opposite one Pansy Parkinson, who gave him a disdainful look. When the rest of the First Years were sorted, the opening feast began and a smattering of conversations began around the table, none of which Harry had been included in.

The Headmaster, a tall man with a hook nose and a contemptuous expression, stood up after everyone had finished their meal and gave the briefest, most curt speech Harry had ever heard, “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. You will be warned that the Dark Forest is out-of-bounds to all students. Any rule-breaking will result in severe consequences, which I do not believe any of you will enjoy. Prefects, please lead your First Years back to the dormitories.” 

“First years, follow me!” They were subsequently led down corridors, down moving staircases, more corridors, and passed many statues and portraits before they finally stopped at a blank wall. The temperature in the Dungeons was a lot lower than up in the Great Hall. “Alright, this is the entrance to the Slytherin common room. The password is currently ‘Belladonna’,” When the word was uttered, the once blank stretch of bricks began shifting until a doorway appeared. The group of them entered, trailing after the prefects. “Passwords will change every two weeks. The new one can be found on the announcement board,” she paused to point at a board to the left of the roaring fireplace, “three days before the password changes. Keep yourselves updated, there may not be anyone to save you should you get trapped outside. Curfew for First and Second Years is at 10.30, which means you should be in your dorm room by then. If you’re caught outside of your rooms-- or Merlin forbid, outside the common room-- past your curfew, there will be consequences.” There was a pause to ensure the words sunk in. Harry felt his heart beating fast at the intimidating atmosphere around him. 

“Now that that’s out of the way, I believe some introductions are in order; I'm Gemma Farley and this” she gestured to the burly boy who was walking up to stand next to her from behind the First Years, “is Graham Montague. We are your Fifth Year prefects. Our Head of House is Professor Horace Slughorn. He will be stopping by later to speak to all of you.” Graham Montague took over from her.

“Allow me to remind you that our house is of the greatest prestige,” he began seriously. “As the Dark Lord’s house, we will not tolerate any embarrassment to Slytherin. Remember that any problems you might have with your fellow Slytherins should stay within the confines of the common room. I hope that is the only time any of us will have to say this.” Their eyes swept over the crowd of First Years before it landed past them. “Professor Slughorn?” greeted Gemma Farley with a respectful incline of her head. The First Years turned around to see their Head of House. Harry was surprised to find a balding man that was really not much taller than they were watching them with kind eyes. He had expected the Head of Slytherin to look more like the Headmaster, but decided it was probably a good thing Professor Slughorn seemed nothing like the dark man.

“Thank you, Miss Farley, Mr. Montague,” he smiled genially at the two prefects. “As you have already been told, I’m Professor Slughorn, and I will be teaching you Potions for as long as you take the subject. Your prefects have given you a good introduction to Slytherin; you are, indeed, in a very special house with some of the most illustrious alumni, and I believe each of you have the potential to become something great in your own right. I wish you all the best of luck in your time here at Hogwarts,” he directed a kind look at the gathered First Years. ”Your trunks and other possessions have already been placed inside your dormitories. I suggest you all get some rest, you will be receiving your timetables from me at breakfast tomorrow, and classes will start thereafter. Have a good night, and welcome to Slytherin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Next one will be out in a week's time :)


	3. October 1991

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> harry meets a special someone

* * *

_ October 1991 _

As the first few weeks of school passed, Harry began to realise that a half-blood orphan with dead and disgraced parents had little place in Slytherin. He wondered if the Hat had made a mistake— Slytherin was not helping him in any way to greatness at all. In fact, Harry felt significantly less great in Slytherin than when he was still in Egladus.

From the get-go, the First Year Slytherins had formed into different cliques; Draco Malfoy instantly became the de-facto leader of a select group of children with Death Eater parents. His crew consisted of Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson, whom even Malfoy did not seem to appreciate the presence of. She was, from what Harry could see, under the impression that they were going to get married someday. 

Theodore Nott was a curiosity; he did not join any of the gangs formed, he was a loner, floating around from group to group. He was even cordial with Harry, who Malfoy’s gang had already marked as an outsider. There was nothing beyond polite but meaningless nods of acknowledgement or the occasional smile in greeting, but they made Harry feel a little less invisible. 

Then there was the girls’ group, Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, Millicent Bulstrode and a few other girls Harry hadn’t learnt the names of. And no matter how desperately he longed for friends, Harry refused to hang around them.  _ He's a boy, after all. _

There were also a few more ragtag groups of friends in his year that also tended to avoid Harry like he housed the plague. They might not necessarily believe very strongly in pure-blood supremacy, but they did believe that Malfoy’s gang could make their lives very difficult if they accepted Harry into their group. They were polite, but distant.

Eventually, Harry accepted his position as a loner with resignation. He knew he still had Hermione, but he could not count on Ravenclaw and Slytherin house being joined in every single one of his classes. He already knew that they only shared Magical Arts and Transfiguration classes.

While Harry had always known that Malfoy took an immediate dislike to him, he had not done anything outwardly hostile until nearly two weeks into the school year. That did not mean he couldn’t sense the animosity radiating from the group, and the distaste and blood supremacist attitudes veiled behind a picture of pure-blood stoicism, but it was only unleashed after their second Potions class.

They had been learning how to concoct a Cure for Boils, and Harry worked fast and efficiently with Theodore Nott as his partner. There was a bit of a commotion when Pansy Parkinson slid into the seat next to Draco Malfoy when he had wanted to work with Blaise Zabini, and Zabini attempted to kick Harry out of his place next to Nott. It was all put to an end when Professor Slughorn walked in and arranged for Zabini to work with a Gryffindor boy who was also partner-less. 

Harry had already gained quite a bit of favour with Professor Slughorn for having managed to answer the questions he had asked him in class by reading ahead. He had already brought Slytherin six points in that lesson alone. 

He ignored the minor argument brewing between Parkinson and Malfoy about which direction to stir the potion to obtain the best results. The girl’s arguments were thwarted by Malfoy boasting of the fact that he had been tutored in Potions by Headmaster Snape, who was the youngest Potions Master in Britain. Harry saw Nott roll his eyes at the blond boy, carefully extracting four measures of crushed snake fangs that Harry had ground up in a mortar. He added them into the cauldron while Harry monitored the temperature of their potion. When it was done, they bottled the potion in silence, writing their names on the bottle for submission. Professor Slughorn walked past their shared workstation and picked up their vial of Boils Cure. Uncorking the bottle, a plume of reddish-pink smoke mushroomed out of the bottle.

“Oh, well done, Mr. Potter, Mr. Nott! You might have stirred the potion a little too vigorously, that would account for the red tint to the smoke, but other than that, your potion is nearly a perfect blue. A wonderful effort from the both of you: take ten points for Slytherin!” Harry couldn't resist the urge to share a smile with Nott as Professor Slughorn ambled past. The thin boy simply looked at him with satisfaction glistening in his eyes. 

Nott sniggered softly when he overheard Professor Slughorn comment on the potion Malfoy had bottled with Parkinson, “Hmm, the smoke is a rather dark red, the two of you must have stirred your potion too fast,” he inspected the potion’s colour through the bottle. “You would want the colour to be darker for a more potent Boil Cure. Not a bad effort Mr. Malfoy, Miss Parkinson.” Malfoy had been terribly unhappy with Parkinson after class, blaming her for having to rush their brewing at the end and for her crudely crushed snake fangs. Harry had snorted a little too loudly, and had consequently been on the receiving end of a vicious glare from Malfoy.

Upon returning to his common room after lunch, Harry found Malfoy lounging on the black couches scattered in the middle of the common room with his gang. The fireplace cast an eerie glow on the room, and under normal circumstances Harry would have walked past without paying them much mind, but with the many pairs of eyes fixated on his every move, he slowed to a halt a distance away from the sofas. Seeing that he had Harry’s attention, Malfoy stood up and glared at Harry.

“Do you know who I am, Potter?” He drawled with a practiced ease, one eyebrow raised. Harry didn't answer. 

“Since you're unable to answer such a simple question, let me make it plain as day for you, Potter. I am a Malfoy, and in the Dark Lord’s favour, while you are nobody half-blood with a blood-traitor father and a mudblood mother. Do  _ not _ cross me.”

Harry fought the urge to argue. Why is it that as a half-blood, he was automatically below the pure-bloods? He has seen Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson’s work in class and he can conclusively state that they were far worse than him. Regardless, his few weeks in Slytherin has taught him self-preservation, and he nodded mutely. Malfoy seemed satisfied with his silent submission, and gestured for the rest to leave for the Transfiguration classroom.

Harry groaned in frustration the second the entrance became a blank wall once more. Perhaps he should have asked the Hat to put him in Ravenclaw instead. At least Hermione did not seem miserable. Maybe even Gryffindor would be better. He quickly gathered his things and made his way out the common room. He had a class to attend and he was going to be late. 

At the end of the school day, Harry met up with Hermione at a table in the more secluded areas of the library to get their homework done and to catch up. Harry was not in the mood to start on his Potions essay that required him to summarise the uses of the key ingredients in the Forgetfulness Potion they would be starting on next week during Double Potions. Hermione had noticed his mood and asked what was wrong. Harry sighed. “I’m just wondering if maybe the Sorting Hat made a mistake when it put me in Slytherin… I’m nothing like the rest of my housemates!”

Hermione stopped working on her homework to look at him. “Harry, I don’t think the Hat would put you in Slytherin if it didn’t think you would do well there. You know, it really considered me for Slytherin too, and I thought it was a great house, so I didn’t mind, but it told me the prejudice against muggle-borns there would not have been beneficial to me. It thought about putting me in Gryffindor too, until it ultimately decided that my talents would only be properly appreciated in Ravenclaw.” Hermione paused to make sure Harry was listening. “I think the Hat really puts a lot of thought into where it sorts the students. I think it knows you have the potential to rise above all of that blood supremacy silliness.” Harry smiled shyly at Hermione’s confident words.

“Thanks, ‘Mione. I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

* * *

Despite the reassuring study session with Hermione, Harry had to face the reality that the animosity between the pure-blood party and himself had not died down. If anything, it had worsened tenfold. It consisted of simple things, such as Malfoy wrinkling his nose when he walked into the room, saying, “Did you smell that?” He would look up, feign shock and gasp, “Oh, it's just the filthy blood polluting the room! Let's go before we catch something.”

And it escalated to jinxes and hexes being thrown at him in his corner of his dorm. One night, he discovered that someone had cursed his bed to make a deafening amount of noise when he closed the drapes around the four-poster, ranging from the loud chatter of the Great Hall during meals to pronounced slurs to his blood status. He had gotten virtually no sleep that night. Thankfully, it wore off by the next night, because Harry really did not want to tattle to Professor Slughorn. 

The bell signaled, and Harry made his way down to the Quidditch pitch for his first Flying lesson of the year. He had previously heard Malfoy boasting that he had been flying on broomsticks since he was six and had the latest  _ Nimbus 2000  _ at home. Though he pointedly did not look forward to another lesson with Malfoy which constituted listening to his egotistical yapping, Harry could not deny the fact that he was very excited. Nervous, yes, but excited nonetheless. 

When Madam Hooch began the lesson and taught them how to summon their brooms and grip it properly to prevent themselves from falling off, it turns out Harry didn’t have to worry about Malfoy’s boasting. “No, not like that, boy! Your grip is all wrong!” Madam Hooch had exclaimed incredulously when she rounded on the blond scion. 

“But I've been doing this all my life!” Came the boy’s indignant, haughty voice. 

“Then you've been doing it  _ wrong  _ all your life!” Harry smothered his laughter, bowing his head to hide the grin threatening to show on his face as Malfoy muttered, “bloody old hag” at Madam Hooch’s retreating back. And when Madam Hooch complimented his grip he could not suppress his grin any longer, until he saw Malfoy glaring daggers at him, after which he schooled his expression into one of neutrality.

They flew around the pitch for a while with no incident, during which Malfoy trailed annoyingly close to him. He tried to swerve around the boy and his companions until suddenly, he felt his broom shake, like someone flying at high speeds beside him, and then, as he was distracted, a broom came up next to him and before he could even get a good view of who it was, large hands shoved him off his Cleansweep broom. 

The moment was surreal; he heard screams of students and he thanked himself in that moment for choosing not to fly too high above the ground. He landed with a rather loud thud and an agonising pain shot through his right arm which he had landed on. He groaned at the pain, and tried to shift his position to relieve some of the pressure. Madam Hooch rushed over and ordered him not to move. She made a thoughtful noise and muttered, “Fractured...”. She cast some sort of spell that immobilised his right side and levitated him. She then turned to the rest of the class, who had all landed back on the ground, informing them that none were to be on their brooms in her absence.

Madam Hooch strode purposefully through the many hallways and corridors of Hogwarts before they arrived at the Infirmary. She deposited him on a bed, and introduced him to Madam Pomfrey who had walked hurriedly to their side when they first entered the Hospital Wing. They spoke briefly before the Matron cast a diagnostic spell on him. She sighed and clicked her tongue in disapproval. She tapped his arm with her wand and muttered, “ _ Ferula”.  _ There was a strange tingling sensation before the pain subsided. She moved out of his view, and returned with a vial of something. “Drink this, Mr. Potter,” she instructed, “It will help with the bruises from the fall.” Harry held his breath and drank the potion, grimacing at the cold potion flowing down his throat and the bitter aftertaste it left in his mouth.

“I would like to keep you here until tomorrow for observation, Mr. Potter. It would give your bones more time to heal properly. Your diagnostic also tells me you’re not sleeping enough, so I would like you to have a good night’s rest here. Are you suffering from any night terrors, Mr. Potter?” she asked gently. Harry bit his lip, thinking about his occasional nightmares about the muggles he used to live with.

“Sometimes… not recently though.”

“Just a bout of insomnia, then?” Harry hesitated, before agreeing with a nod. “Nothing a few Dreamless Sleep potions can’t solve.” Harry thanked Madam Pomfrey for her help and sunk deeper into his pillows. He fell asleep from sheer exhaustion of the day’s tumultuous happenings.

He woke up a while later to find Hermione sitting on the chair next to his bed with a book on her lap. She looked up when she saw Harry shift in her periphery. “Harry!” she gasped, “Are you alright? I heard about your fall from Padma. Her sister’s in Gryffindor and she saw what happened.”

Harry groaned, feeling his parched throat and aching body. “D-does,” he paused when his voice caught in his throat, accepting the glass of water Hermione held out for him. “Does everyone know about that now?” Hermione looked a little distressed, not wanting to upset him with the rumours going around.

“Draco Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins are saying you lost your balance and fell off… The Gryffindors that were present didn’t really see what happened so that’s the official story.” Harry kept silent for a while.

“Somebody pushed me, Hermione,” Harry confessed bitterly. Hermione gasped.

“Harry! You must tell a teacher! They can be expelled for that!” 

Harry shrugged helplessly. “I don’t think any of the pure-bloods can be expelled for anything.” Hermione looked torn between accepting his logic and insisting that he report his yearmates for their actions. She too knew of the blatant favouritism accorded to pure-blood students. It was not nearly as bad in Ravenclaw, but it still happened.

They spoke about lighter things for a while, until Madam Pomfrey returned to kick Hermione out for staying long past visiting hours. Harry spent the rest of the day in utter boredom, trying to strike the perfect balance between ensuring his body didn’t ache from staying in one position for too long and moving too much. When night fell, the Matron delivered a bottle of Dreamless Sleep potion as promised. Harry downed the small vial of purple potion and was lulled into a peaceful sleep.

When Harry woke up the next morning, he found Madam Pomfrey hovering nearby with her wand drawn over him. She smiled at his wide-eyed look, informing him that she was simply performing some medical tests to ensure he was fit for discharge. Harry relaxed and she continued her work. “Well then, Mr. Potter, you're free to go,” she declared. “Do not engage in strenuous physical activity for the next week. The spell simply accelerates the process, your bones will still need another day or two to fully recover, and running around may cause pain.” Harry nodded at the stern gaze before he got off the bed with a “thank you”, and prepared to return to his common room. 

When Harry walked into his dorm, he stopped short when confronted with Malfoy and his cronies. He had a terribly insincere smile on his face. “Hello, Potter,” he greeted mockingly. “What do you say to a little duel to see who is the better wizard? No seconds, nothing deadly. If you win, you can hang with us.”

Harry knew he should have just walked off, but his mouth had other plans. “And if I lost?” he blurted out. It seems like even a month in Slytherin couldn’t wipe away his impulsive tendencies.

“Oh, just defeating you would be enough reward, Potter.” Malfoy said casually. 

Harry was almost entirely certain it was a trap, but once again, his mouth colluded with his pride, and he heard himself say, “Challenge accepted.” When his actions caught up with his brain, Harry felt a wave of anxiety course through him, but it was too late to back out.

“Glad you agreed, Potter. Midnight, at the Trophy Room. It’s always unlocked.”

Harry nodded, the jerk of his head stubbornly refusing to betray any of the mounting unease he felt. Subconsciously, he knew he had been exceptionally foolish in agreeing to a duel with Malfoy, not only because it was likely the pure-blood had been exposed to far more spells than he had, but also because his wand arm was still barely healed. How was he supposed to duel in such a state?

* * *

Harry was pacing around the Trophy Room at 12.04 in the night. He was mostly invisible, having attempted to cast a Disillusionment Charm over himself in the bathroom earlier. He would not name the attempt successful, for he could see the ripples in the background as he walked back and forth in front of the mirror in the bathroom. When he tried to study himself closely in the mirror, he even noticed the clear outline of his head with several strands of hair still floating above his concealed body. He shrugged his worry away; the hallways would be too dark for someone to see him if they didn’t know he was there. He was rather proud of himself for having achieved most of the desired effects of a Fifth Year spell. It had been something he picked up from studying through a library book about useful spells in hopes of leveling the odds of his upcoming duel.

Harry chose to take the time to look around the Trophy Room, wondering why it didn’t occur to him that there would be trophies in the Trophy Room. He walked up to the biggest shields in the middle of the room. The gold plating reflected the light from the  _ Lumos  _ he casted. 

_ Special Award for Services to the School _

_ Awarded to TOM RIDDLE in the Academic Year of 1942-1943 _

Harry hummed at the name. He didn’t think it sounded like the names of any of the pure-blood families he had heard of during his Wizarding Cultures and Traditions classes in Egladus. He wondered what Tom Riddle had done to obtain this award. He looked at some of the other Special Awards, finding many pure-blood names recognised dating all the way back to the 1600s. Harry moved on quickly, his attention drawn by the few plaques on the wall with the headings of  _ Head Boy _ and  _ Head Girl. _

Once again, Harry saw the name Tom Riddle on the list.  _ Overachiever _ , he thought ruefully. Moving further down the list, he found one James Potter. Harry felt his eyes widen. His father was the Head Boy during his time at Hogwarts? He looked across to the Head Girl plaque, finding a Lily Evans in the same year. Harry swallowed, and filed this precious tidbit of information about his parents away. He didn’t know much about them beyond their names and actions during the War, but they can’t have been bad people if they were made Head Boy and Girl. 

Harry guessed he must have looked around the Trophy Room for at least ten minutes by then and still, Malfoy had not shown up. He stopped short as he realised abruptly.  _ Malfoy had never planned on coming,  _ Harry groused in his head.  _ I suppose I’ve won by default then _ , Harry thought sarcastically. But something didn’t add up… if this was a trap, then where was—

“Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner.”

Harry hurriedly whispered  _ Nox _ and in his panic, he almost dropped his wand. He snuck quietly to the door and thanked Merlin he was going slow, for Mrs. Norris, Filch’s cat, was right in the doorway. She seemed to stare right at him and for a moment, Harry had worried his Disillusionment Charm had worn off. He sagged in relief when Mrs. Norris strolled right past him into the Trophy Room, holding in the cautious breath he was tempted to release. He made his quick escape, creeping slowly past Filch who was making his way down the wide fourth floor corridor that led to the Trophy Room. Filch didn’t notice him inch his way past in the opposite direction, and when there was a suitably far distance between them, Harry quickened his pace, walking off blindly in whichever direction the corridor led. 

In his paranoia, Harry had simply walked briskly forward while looking back every few seconds, just in case Filch and the cat was on his trail. His eyes could not see very well in the darkness of the hallways, and did not notice a tall, hooded figure walking towards him until they were scant metres apart. Harry held his breath, turning his body sideways in an effort to squeeze past the wizard next to him. 

Just as he was certain he would make it past the man undetected, a pale hand shot out from under the cloak and gripped his shoulder tightly. Harry let out an involuntary gasp of shock and the fingers curled around his wand loosened and it clattered to the floor. In his shock, he lost the thread of control he held over the Disillusionment Charm and felt the sensation of cold liquid sliding off his body as the spell wore off.

“That was an abysmal Disillusionment Charm,” commented the cloaked figure. Then Harry had felt eyes sizing him up. “You’re rather short for a Fifth-Year,” he remarked lightly. Though frozen with fear, Harry felt a prick of irritation at that comment. His height has always been a sensitive topic. 

“I’m a First-Year!” he defended. The man remained silent, though he did tilt his head slightly. Harry swallowed nervously as the cloaked figure surveyed him.

“I should bring you to Severus. Your  _ First-Year  _ self can become closely acquainted with his most creative punishments,” The man said offhandedly after a while. Harry gulped, but didn't dare say a word. The Headmaster was not known for his leniency. “What could a little Slytherin like you be doing out of bed at this hour, hmm?” 

Not wanting to be brought to the Headmaster’s office for attempting to have a duel on top of being caught out after curfew, Harry blurted out the first thing that came to mind without much thought.

“I sleepwalk!” Only after it came out of his mouth did Harry realise just how ridiculously implausible it was. The man laughed, sharp and cold, but his amusement rang true nonetheless.

“Do you normally retire under a Disillusionment Charm, then?” Harry blushed at the gaping hole in his lie, hoping the corridor was dark enough for the man to not be able to see his embarrassment.  _ Who am I kidding,  _ Harry thought miserably,  _ embarrassment is probably the least of my worries right now.  _ The man silently summoned Harry’s wand off the floor and into his hand. The cloaked head tilted to look down at his wand. He twirled it around slowly. 

“Tell me about your wand,” the man asked in a tone that suggested he always got what he wanted. Harry floundered at the non-sequitur. 

“I- uh… It- it’s eleven inches of holly… phoenix feather core… nice and supple,” he recalled from Mr. Ollivander. 

The man hummed softly, and murmured, “It almost feels like my own.”

Something else that Mr. Ollivander had said suddenly occurred to Harry, and he couldn’t help but ask, “Are you the owner of my wand’s brother?” The man glanced at him momentarily.

“Of course he told you,” the man muttered. He was silent for a long time, before he answered with a simple, “Yes.” Feeling a sudden sense of solidarity with the cloaked man growing, Harry plucked up the courage to make conversation with him. 

“I’ve never seen you around before… Are you a- you know… Death Eater?” It was common knowledge that Death Eaters would occasionally grace the halls of Hogwarts. However, Harry was most certain Headmaster Snape had not said a word about this occurrence solely because he enjoyed seeing the students suffer in encounters gone awry with the more ruthless ones.

“You could say that…” the man had replied cryptically. He moved towards a room along the corridor they were in. It was only then did Harry have a chance to properly figure out where in the school he was. It was the fourth floor of the South Tower, near Classroom 98 where his Transfiguration classes were held. Harry watched as the man lowered his hood and through the moonlight streaming in from the windows of the classroom, he could make out pale skin, dark hair, a defined nose and dark eyes. The eyes were extremely alluring, almost as if they were glowing with a tinted hue he could not quite make out in the semi-darkness of the classroom. 

“Mr. Ollivander told me that brother wands tend to turn up in families… Could we be family?” Harry asked quietly. The man turned to face Harry and Harry thought he looked vaguely familiar.

“What is your name, little Slytherin?” And when Harry told him, he scoffed slightly and said, “No. Our last common ancestor likely lived during the Middle Ages.” Harry swallowed down his disappointment at that. Seeing his parents’ names in the Trophy Room had stirred up a buried desire within him to meet his family.

“Oh… But we still have… similar magic… types, right?” Harry struggled to recall what exactly Mr. Ollivander had told him when he received his new wand. Harry saw the shadows move on the man’s face when he frowned. Then, he closed his eyes and his lips quirked upwards in amusement.

“As you have crudely put it, we have similar magical signatures. Magical signatures are a manifestation of an individual’s unique magical core, determined by the power of the latter.” Harry thought he rather sounded like one of his teachers when they were lecturing about magical theory. It was all terribly interesting and Harry opened his mouth to ask more questions, before he was interrupted by the man, “I have a proposition for you.” Harry gave him an anticipatory look. 

“I will personally teach you about the magical arts,” Harry’s eyes widened. “If you accept my tutelage, all I ask of you is that you listen very attentively to all my instructions.”

“Really?”

“Do I look like someone who has the time to play practical jokes on schoolchildren?” Harry wrung his hands together.

“But… why?” The man seemed irritated by his question.

“I am offering you an opportunity you will never see again. Are you so ungrateful as to refuse?” he said, his tone soft but deadly. Harry felt trapped, the stab of fear in his chest causing his initial wariness of the man to return in full force, prompting him to start explaining.

“No! I am grateful!” Harry assured him hastily, but added hesitantly thereafter, “I just… I just- Why me?” The man watched him, and Harry shrunk under his scrutiny.

“We have similar magical cores, Harry Potter. You are powerful; much more powerful than anyone you will meet here. Your potential will be wasted on the typical Hogwarts curriculum. If you wish to excel, I can bring you to  _ greatness _ . The pure-bloods will bow and scrape at your power. You can have anything you wanted, if only you dared seek it. I am offering you the chance to take what you deserve.” Harry’s eyes were wide by the time the man finished speaking. He accepted before he considered the offer any further.

“Okay, I’ll be your student… But-”

“You will have plenty of time to bombard me with questions in the future. You should return to your common room now.” Harry realised it was probably quite late at this point. Still, he had one final burning question to ask.

“But I haven’t gotten your name yet…” Harry must have caught the man off guard, for he looked contemplative and hesitant for a moment, almost as if he wasn’t used to people asking for his name. Then his face contorted into what could best be described as a face one would make when they were angry. Harry stammered, “I-if you don’t want to tell me… um… it’s… alright.”

The man sighed and then announced in a resigned tone, “It’s… Tom Riddle.”

“I saw your name in the Trophy Room! That’s so amazing, Tom-” Tom made a vague noise of disgust which stopped Harry in his ramble.

“Don’t-” The venom injected into that one word made Harry freeze, and ‘Tom’ cut himself off with an aggravated sigh, “You will call me Marvolo instead.” 

“Marvolo?” Harry did not understand why Tom Riddle would give him that name if he did not want Harry to use it.

“My middle name,” he explained curtly. “I shall take my leave now, little Slytherin. I will be in contact with you.” He glanced at Harry once more and gestured for him to come closer. He waved his hand, and Harry felt the familiar sensation of the Disillusionment Charm taking effect. Harry gasped when he looked down to see that he had indeed disappeared flawlessly. “It will fade in two hours.” 

“You just did wandless and nonverbal magic!” He said, shocked at the display of magical aptitude.

“I am well aware of that, little Slytherin. In time, you will learn to do the same,” was his drawl of a response. He left the room before Harry could say goodbye.

* * *

As he strode quickly away from the South Tower, Lord Voldemort wondered why he felt a growing sense of protectiveness for the boy. It couldn’t have just been that they held brother wands; his very magic was against the idea of hurting Harry Potter. It was a mystery he had to unravel, sooner rather than later, or someone might end up dead from his temper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed this chapter, would absolutely love to hear your thoughts. next one will be out around next week too :)


	4. November 1991 - December 1991

_ November 1991 _

_ Harry Potter _ , the Dark Lord considered with a wry smirk,  _ His parents would be rolling in their graves to know he was consorting with the enemy.  _ He tossed the boy’s dossier he had in hand back onto his desk, and it landed on top of the book he had for referencing. He had quickly found the answer to the questions plaguing him since he met the boy. It would appear that he had a compatible magical core with the son of two of the Order’s most powerful assets. As his thoughts drifted back to Dumbledore’s Order, he recalled the snippet of the prophecy Severus had brought him more than ten years ago. 

_ ‘Born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…’  _ He hummed slightly as he mused over those words. Harry Potter— born on July 31st 1980, mere months after Severus reported the prophecy’s existence to him. 

His first instinct had been to kill Severus for bringing him such a pointless piece of information. But he was not a Slytherin for nothing. After his initial bout of absolute fury passed with a cathartic  _ Crucio _ shot at his spy, he considered the information. The only thing he could conceivably glean from that was that whoever he shared this prophecy was, in some aspect, a male born in late July; he will see ‘him’ as an equal in some regard; and ‘he’ will have some sort of power that Lord Voldemort, as the greatest Dark Lord Wizarding Europe has ever seen, does not have. 

In that moment, he had to consider if he would see to the destruction of this new adversary, or look at this as a way to increase his already immense power. If there was indeed someone out there with power he has yet to discover, he will have all the time in the world after securing his position over Wizarding Britain to find this mysterious ‘he’. The knowledge that Dumbledore had not provided the memory of the prophecy to be stored in the Hall of Prophecies before his death, and Sybil Trelawney had no recollection of the prophecy she made when he looked through her mind infuriated him greatly, until he considered the possible merits.

Lord Voldemort pondered distantly about the validity of a prophecy if none among the living knew it in its entirety.  _ If a tree fell in the forest and no one was around to hear it, does it still make a sound?  _ He smiled in amusement,  _ If a prophecy was made and everyone that heard it all is either dead or suffering from memory-loss, is there still a prophecy?  _ The Dark Lord pursed his lips, tapping his fingertips on the wood of his desk. He supposed the fact that he knew a prophecy existed impels him to act upon it, and the ten years that have lapsed without incident since he learnt of its existence is nothing on a cosmic scale. The prophecy could still come to fruition, but if that excerpt was all that remained in this world, wouldn’t that make it the only part of the prophecy with validity to occur? After all, the caveat of any prophecy is that it’s subjects can only act upon it if they knew its existence, be it to their benefit or detriment.

Divination was a fickle branch of magic, working on a wizard’s interpretation rather than intentions. Two sides of the same coin, ultimately, but it could render vastly different results. The Dark Lord suppressed a sigh of irritation. He was getting nowhere with this line of thought. He refocused on the more tangible issue of Harry Potter. The boy that held his wand’s brother. When Wormtail had betrayed the Potters, he had sent Death Eaters to kill them and the normally formidable pair had been caught entirely unawares. From Evan Rosier’s report, Wilkes had been attacked by Sirius Black after casting the Killing Curse on Lily Potter, but with an entire team of elite Death Eaters against him, even Sirius Black, in his tremendous rage and grief, was overpowered, and he had died taking down Wilkes. The Dark Lord supposed, in a way, he did get his revenge. The man needn’t have feared for the safety of the Potter child though— he had ordered for young children to be spared and re-educated as the War drew to a close. Too much magical blood had already been spilled and what was the point of ruling over an empire of corpses?

His musing was interrupted by the arrival of an eagle owl he recognised as Lucius’. It carried a letter sealed with the customary Malfoy coat of arms enchanted against interceptions and disallowing anyone but the intended recipient to read its contents. He took the letter from the owl and it stayed perched patiently on a windowsill as he sliced the wax seal open with a letter-opener. He pulled the parchment out, tapping the letter-opener against his desk as he read the missive.

_ My Lord, _

_ The diary you have entrusted with my safekeeping has been shifted to a discreet location in my study. The Manor wards have been adjusted to allow for additional protection to be placed over the book by your magic directly. I can assure you that I am the only one with the knowledge of its place in my study.  _

_ I will be most honoured to host you, at your convenience, for the warding of the diary. _

_ Your most humble servant, _

_ Lucius Malfoy _

The Dark Lord felt a vague sense of peace and contentment rise in him as he read the letter. He had recently discovered that Dumbledore, before his death, had left clues to Alastor Moody and his happy band of sickeningly righteous felons, regarding his horcruxes. He had taken it upon himself to ensure the safety and security of all his horcruxes, and the diadem in the Room of Hidden Things had been his objective the night he met Harry Potter, moving it to a more secure location and placing enchantments on it to remedy his arrogant overlooking of protection for a vassal of his soul in his youth. He had elected to leave his old diary in Malfoy Manor, but had forced Lucius to open up a gap in the family wards for his own wards to take effect for the diary’s protection. 

He conjured a piece of parchment to write a quick reply to Lucius. Sealing it within a nondescript envelope, he enchanted it to ensure its privacy, and added a most unpleasant curse for any hopeful spies attempting to read his correspondence. The Malfoy owl allowed him to attach the letter to its talon before flying off to its master.

He picked up the quill again as he returned to his desk, conjuring a second piece of parchment, writing out a short note to Harry Potter under the identity of a high-ranking Death Eater. He placed it on his desk after it was sealed in an envelope, and leaned back in his seat. Their compatible magical cores certainly explained their brother wands and his reluctance to see the boy come to any harm. It was incredibly rare to find two people whose magical signatures were similar, and rarer still for someone with an unnaturally powerful magical core such as himself. The Dark Lord tilted his head as he realised that he had already, at least mentally, marked Harry Potter as his equal. If his theory was right, and the prophecy now functioned only on the snippet that continues to exist in this world, he need only find the Potter child’s ‘power he knows not’. And as a subject of a prophecy, he held the power of interpretation-- if he chose to believe that Harry Potter was in fact the other subject of the prophecy and that his mysterious power was no danger to his position, he had nothing to concern himself with. There was nothing left of it to dispute his interpretation anyway.

He smiled as he summoned his house-elf to bring his note to an owl for delivery, finding himself strangely happy with the idea of seeing Harry Potter again. It has been too long since he has had a conversation with someone who didn’t immediately fear him.

* * *

Harry walked into the Great Hall cautiously, looking for the telltale signs that Malfoy and his bullies were around for breakfast. They weren't, of course, it was much earlier than their usual waking time. He settled down at one end of the Slytherin long table, the few upper year students present paying him no mind. A few people passed by in his blank stare to the Hufflepuff end of the Great Hall, his hand moving absentmindedly to get some jam on his toast. He had a very peaceful breakfast for over half an hour, before a confident swagger, followed by two hulking gaits interrupted his pleasant morning. Harry sighed; It was time to go.

He stood up, keeping his back hunched slightly to make himself smaller, attempting to be quick but subtle. Luckily, no one seemed to notice him, or perhaps they were just ignoring him. Harry shrugged mentally, preferring this over the scrutinising and condescending gazes that trailed after him wherever he went around his own house. 

A loud rustling noise filled the silence between the muted chattering and conversations in the hall. Harry almost always left when the owls came to deliver the mail, for everyone was either engrossed in their letters, or, for the muggleborn and muggle-raised, engrossed in the swarm of owls flying overhead. Sometimes, Harry would look on enviously at the gifts and sweets that his more fortunate peers received from home. 

He had just barely gotten a few feet away from the Slytherin table when he felt something drop on him, tumbling over his messy hair only to fall behind him neatly. His first thought was that it was some ridiculous prank someone was trying to play on him, before he turned around and saw a letter sitting on the floor innocently, just asking to be opened. He looked around, thinking it could've been anyone else's letters that he would be intruding upon, but no one stood within distance. He glanced up to see an unassuming barn owl preparing to fly away from the little perch it made of a piece of decor nearby. Harry grabbed the letter quickly, shoving it back to the owl, and it looked at him as questioningly as an owl could.

“I- I think you got the wrong person? There's no one that would-” Harry paused, realising that what he had been about to say wasn’t true— Marvolo had promised to be in contact with him!

“Is this from Marvolo?” Harry wasn’t sure if owls could understand people, magical or not, but he wanted some confirmation before he opened it. It tilted its head and gave a soft hoot that could have meant anything and flew off before Harry could ask it more questions. 

With the letter clutched in his hand, he glanced about, feeling rather like a lost child that found a galleon on the sidewalk. Finally, Harry gave up and carefully tore open his first personal letter. His heart thumped in his ribcage at the excitement as he slowly lifted the wax seal, being mindful not to tear off the bottom. He pulled the exquisite parchment out and unfolded it.

_ Harry, _

_ I have arranged for you to stay at Riddle Manor over Yule. My house-elf will collect you from Platform 9¾.  _

_ We shall discuss the matter of mentorship then. _

_ TMR  _

Harry had started the letter smiling and ended it with a grin so impossibly large, he almost wanted to cheer out loud to release the sudden burst of energy and happiness he felt. He stopped himself, and settled into a happy grin. 

“Who would send you a letter, Potter?”

Just as the letter was snatched out of his grip, his calm happiness was snatched away by Malfoy and his lackeys. Harry jumped as a scream erupted next to him, piercing the muted chatter of the hall. Malfoy looked exasperatedly at Goyle as the oversized boy pointed to nothing. 

“What, Goyle? Do you see your tiny brain on the floor?” Malfoy smirked at the insult he came up with and stretched out a waiting hand, “Give me the letter will you?” Whether Goyle didn’t care or didn’t understand, Harry wasn’t sure and never found out as Headmaster Snape swept forward to interrupt the terrified stuttering. 

“Do not touch that parchment, Draco. It is cursed,” Snape watched the whimpering boy with disinterest. “Mr. Montague, bring Mr. Goyle here to the Hospital Wing. Tell Madam Pomfrey he has been subjected to the Nightmare Curse.” He spoke to the prefect in question without looking away and watched as Goyle was shown out of the Great Hall with hundreds of pairs of eyes trailing after him. Slowly, the chatter returned, but the undertones of excitement lingered. Harry felt his heart skip a beat as he now bore the weight of the Headmaster’s gaze. 

“Possession of cursed items is forbidden, Mr. Potter. Follow me.” Harry needn’t turn around to know that it was Malfoy sniggering to Crabbe about his misfortune.

The Headmaster brought him on a long journey to his office, walking so fast he occasionally had to jog to keep up with him. They eventually reached a gargoyle and he simply glared at the stone and it sprung to life, hopping out of their way to reveal a stairway. The Headmaster practically shoved him through the door to his office and Harry stumbled in. 

“Who sent you the letter?” he demanded without preamble. Harry gaped.

“I… I don’t know! I didn’t get to read it,” he lied quickly. The Headmaster glowered and his lips curled in loathing. Harry’s heart quickened as he faced the brunt of the Headmaster’s unfathomable loathing.

“Ten points from Slytherin for lying.” Harry gawked at the disproportionate point-loss. “

Who sent you the letter? I will not ask again, Potter.” Harry remained stubbornly silent until Snape moved suddenly towards him. He flinched back and thought it best to just tell the Headmaster, if only to leave this office in one piece.

“A Death Eater! I met him a while ago! He offered to teach me,” he admitted selectively. Snape must have sensed somehow he was telling the truth, because he didn’t call him a liar again.

“You’re just like your father, aren’t you?” Harry stared at the Headmaster in shock, “Arrogant and foolish. What could a Death Eater see in a talentless troublemaker like you?” he hissed, and Harry looked at the floor, clenching his fists, and trying his best to appear nonchalant, but the words truly cut him deeply. It seems like no one appreciated his aptitude in magic any longer, all anyone saw was his disgraced parents and half-blood status. He kept silent, hoping that Snape would let him leave soon. He was going to be late for class and he had the sinking feeling that there was no way the Headmaster was going to write him any sort of excuse note for his professor. 

At last, his wish was granted as the Headmaster ordered curtly, “Get out,” and Harry all but threw himself out of the office and sprinted to his first class of the day. His mood sank lower as the bell tolled, signaling that he was late for his Magical Arts class and Professor Carrow was not known for being a forgiving man. 

By some miracle, Professor Carrow had not arrived at the classroom when Harry raced in, settling quickly at an empty table and pulling out his necessary supplies. When Professor Carrow arrived, bringing with him his usual menacing aura. 

“We will be starting on the topic of Jinxes today. Turn to page 47 of your textbooks,” he ordered curtly. There was a scramble of movement as people moved to pull their textbooks out of their bags and flip to the aforementioned page. He watched them all with a disinterested gaze. When most of the class had finally settled down, he began the lecture about the distinguishing characteristics of spells under the category of jinxes. 

As much as Harry loved learning all about magic, by the end of the lesson, he wanted nothing more than the holidays to arrive immediately. He couldn’t wait for the Yule break in three weeks.

* * *

_ December 1991 _

The countdown to Yule manifested in the splendid decor around the Great Hall as the days crawled by. In the week leading up to the holidays, the Great Hall was decked in some of the most resplendent decorations Harry had ever laid eyes on. Yet even the year-end cheer could not relieve Harry of the worry he felt when he realised he had a little problem. 

How was he supposed to tell Hermione that he would not be staying at Hogwarts over the holidays with her? He wanted to, at all cost, avoid any sort of dispute right before Yule. 

Harry sighed, accepting that he would have to tell her a little lie about who he was going to spend the holidays with. He decided that he would tell her he was invited to stay at a friend’s over Yule which was technically not a lie and he hoped to Merlin he would sound sincere enough that Hermione, astute as she was, would not see right through it. With that, he waited with bated breath for the day the list of students staying over the holidays was released and Hermione to come barreling down at him for an explanation as to why his name wasn’t there. Harry didn’t even have to wait a day before that moment came, for nearly the instant after he made up the story in his head, Hermione rushed into their corner of the library with a frantic expression.

“Harry! I just went to check the list for people staying over the holidays and your name’s not there!”

Harry sucked in a deep breath; here goes nothing. “‘Mione-” he began but was immediately interrupted.

“Oh, Harry did you forget to sign up? Didn’t I tell you over and over again to sign up? Really, you need to be more organised! Maybe you can ask Professor Slughorn to help you now! I’m sure he wouldn’t mind-”

“Hermione!” she stopped in her tirade, eyes wide at the sudden interruption, “I didn’t forget, I’m just-”

“But your name isn’t there! I checked four times!”

Harry smiled at her unwarranted worry, “It’s fine, I got invited over to- uh... Theodore Nott’s... he- um... his father would like to meet some of his... f-friends,” Harry finished lamely. Hermione, however, had stopped listening after he said “invited”, absolutely ecstatic on his behalf.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Harry! It’ll be such a great opportunity so find out more about Wizarding culture! You’ll have to write to me and tell me all about it! Why didn’t you tell me earlier? I’m so happy for you!” Hermione beamed at him and Harry knew that she was not just happy for the learning opportunity, but because she thought Harry finally had a Slytherin friend. Harry almost felt bad for lying and avoiding the question, but he also didn’t think Hermione would appreciate the truth too much either,  _ “Oh, just visiting a Death Eater, Hermione, no biggie.” _

“I will, I promise,” Harry didn’t think Marvolo would mind too much.

* * *

Harry left early for Hogsmeade Station, both to get a good compartment and to avoid his house-mates coming down later. After stowing his small trunk into the storage compartment, he wandered the train, before he sat down in one of the compartments further away from the doors of the train in hopes that anyone he knew would find a convenient compartment to sit in near the doors. He leaned his head against the windows and took out a book he borrowed from the school’s library to last him the train ride. Ten minutes before the train left, the doors slammed open and his head jerked up to see Malfoy enter with his procession. Just his luck.

Malfoy looked at him in surprise, before he smirked unpleasantly, “Going somewhere, Potter?” Harry glared at the intruder and ignored him, which served only to anger the blonde, who said, “This compartment is for pure-bloods only, Potter, you should get out.” 

“There’s no such thing, Malfoy,” Harry said in irritation, wondering why people loved to claim that compartments were exclusive. “Get your own compartment.” Harry did not watch for Malfoy’s reaction and returned to the book in hand. And for a brief five seconds, he had peace, which was rudely interrupted by the book abruptly being tugged from his hands. His shock allowed the assailant to snatch the book away from him and he followed the book’s trajectory out of the compartment doors. “That’s a library book, Malfoy!” he shouted at the smug boy, as he mindlessly shot out after the book. It was when he heard the door shut behind him that he realised the folly of his actions. He dove for the door handle, but it did not even budge. Malfoy must have magically locked it. In that instance, Harry was grateful for his having read ahead.

“ _ Alohomora _ !” There was a flash and then the door sprang open with a force, hitting Crabbe in the face. The overgrown boy fell backwards with a loud groan and hit the carriage floor with a resounding thud, clutching his nose. 

“What’s going on here?” One of the Slytherin prefects patrolling the train had heard the commotion. Malfoy was quick to respond.

“Potter assaulted him! Look at his nose!” Crabbe released his nose from his tender clutch and there was a small trickle of blood around his nose, which Harry balked at the implication that he had indeed attacked Crabbe with no warrant. The senior prefect tutted at the bloodied nose and muttered a quick spell to fix it, and then rounded on Harry. 

“I won’t dock any house points seeing as it won’t do Slytherin any good, but you will be serving detention after the holidays, got it, Potter?” Harry bristled at the unjustified punishment but nodded quickly. The prefect seemed satisfied, and left without another word. Harry departed as well in the opposite direction, the book clutched close to him, and he could feel Malfoy's smirk trailing his movement even after he heard the compartment door slam. He found an empty carriage mere moments later and sighed in frustration. Of course the train wasn’t full, this was just another opportunity to make his life difficult.

When the train arrived at Platform 9¾, Harry hastened to disembark, and wandered aimlessly around the station. How was he supposed to know what Marvolo’s house-elf looked like? It could be any of the number of house-elves running around the platform, moving luggage and helping their families. Harry wondered what would happen if he couldn’t find the elf. Would he just wait here and hope someone came to his rescue? Maybe Marvolo would get worried and come get him himself? In the midst of his panic, a ‘pop’ of Apparition sounded behind him. 

“Is you being Harry Potter?” asked a squeaky feminine voice. Harry turned around, and found a house-elf with neat green clothes and bulging bright green eyes. It’s floppy ears were short and it had a faded scar on its left cheek. Harry nodded to answer her question. 

“D-did Marvolo send you?” 

The elf nodded her head, and her ears flopped slightly at the harsh motion. “I be Mipsy, Harry Potter Sir,” she introduced herself, “Master sent Mipsy to bring Harry Potter to Master’s Littler Home.” Mipsy held out a skeletal hand for Harry, and he grabbed it carefully, allowing the elf to Apparate them to Marvolo’s ‘Littler Home’. The Death Eater must have another, bigger home then, Harry reasoned. Mipsy snapped her fingers and they disappeared from the station with a burst of magic.

When Harry felt the dizzy feeling of Side-Along Apparition subside, he opened his eyes to reorient himself, finding himself in a receiving foyer of what must have been quite a large house.  _ If this manor is Marvolo’s ‘Littler House’, how big is his ‘Bigger House’?  _ Harry wondered in amazement. Mipsy had disappeared once again after setting his trunk down next to him, leaving Harry to look around the rather intimidating room. He started slightly when the elf popped back into existence in front of him.

“Master be expecting Harry Potter in Master’s study! Mipsy will bring Harry Potter there,” she declared. Harry trailed after the elf as it walked through the halls of the manor with determination. It was indeed a big place, and Harry was led deep into the house where Marvolo supposedly was waiting for him. Mipsy pushed open an opulent door and an office came into view. The room was decorated in a sea-foam green accented by black furniture, and a desk set in the middle of the room. A huge shelf filled with books covered the furthest wall from the door, and sitting off to the side of the magnificent bookshelf was Marvolo. 

Harry took the opportunity to get a better look at his new mentor. He had a pair of very light blue eyes and sharp features. “Hello, Harry,” Marvolo greeted, sounding vaguely amused. Harry offered him a shy smile, returning his greeting. Marvolo summoned Mipsy to bring some light refreshments for them while they spoke.

“Now,” Marvolo stated as he settled his cup of tea back onto the table. “We will not have any sort of fixed schedule or,” Marvolo waved his hand dismissively, “curriculum.” Harry nodded, paying rapt attention to the Death Eater in front of him. “Instead, I will teach you anything I deem useful or meaningful, whenever I see fit.” 

“Okay,” Harry agreed easily. He was already immensely grateful to have someone like Marvolo take a personal interest in his education, the Death Eater’s terms did not deter him at all. Marvolo leveled him a contemplative look.

“Good,” he said simply, and Harry grinned widely, his woes in Hogwarts evaporating from his mind quickly. He now had the opportunity to learn magic beyond the standard requirement and he could not contain his excitement. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's another chapter! once again, thanks for reading and I would absolutely love to know your thoughts. tried a little something different with the dark lord's contemplation at the beginning of the chapter.
> 
> I have chapter 5 mostly ready to go and I have begun work on chapter 6, but there is a slight chance that there will be some delays in getting them out because I would like to write a little more before I publish anything. chapter 5 will be out, at the very latest, by 24/7/20. it'll probably still be out on 20/7/20 though. I hold myself to the promises I make


	5. December 1991

* * *

_December 1991_

Harry woke up with a start. His heart was beating painfully fast and his breathing was unsteady. He looked around the room frantically, not recognising the dark green and black designs of the resplendent room. He gripped his duvet tightly as he tried to rationalise where he was. 

_I’m at Marvolo’s home,_ he realised. His heart rate slowed as his breaths became steadier. Harry has been staying with him for the past two days. He fought back the tears that began to gather in his eyes as images of the cupboard under the stairs materialised behind his closed eyes; images of the Dursleys, his aunt’s sneering look, his uncle’s meaty fists, and his cousin’s mean sniggers. He hugged the duvet closer to his chest, curling into a foetal position on the huge bed, wishing there was someone next to him to hold him and tell him everything was okay.

Harry was out of the door before he even realised what he was doing. He had no idea where Marvolo was or if he was awake, but something deep in him told him the man was still around. He ran through the dark hallways entirely on instinct and finally spotted who he was looking for after rounding corner after corner. He paused as Marvolo’s eyes flickered to him.

Harry suddenly felt the urge to fidget when he was met with the brunt of Marvolo’s greyish-blue gaze. “Why are you awake, Harry?” 

“U-uh… are you going somewhere?” he asked instead, eyeing the fancier-than-normal formal robes that Marvolo had donned. 

“You are avoiding my question. Why are you awake?”

Harry began to fiddle with the loose thread of his nightclothes, feeling extremely silly. What was he thinking? Marvolo was a Death Eater, for Merlin’s sake! He doesn’t have time for this! “I… N-nothing… I-I’m going back to sleep… Goodnight,” he stuttered out in a rush, turning back where he came from. He got about two steps away before he felt a force pinning him still. When he was released from the magical grip, he swallowed and turned back around to face Marvolo, who was watching him with an unreadable expression. 

“You sought me out. You must want something; Out with it.” Harry thought he sounded irritated. 

“I… It’s nothing… I-I just can’t really sleep… but that’s not important- I-I’m gonna go now-”

“And stare at the ceiling for two hours?” Harry distinctly felt that he was being chastised and bowed his head, wishing he’d never gotten the idea to find Marvolo. Of course, he would think it was stupid! Besides, he was already eleven, the nightmares shouldn’t be affecting him so much anymore!

“I will tell you something I learned early on,” he continued in a milder tone, and Harry’s interest peaked. “If you are unable to fall asleep, there is no point lying down— the harder you pursue sleep, the more elusive it becomes,” Harry looked at him attentively. “Pick up a book; do your holiday assignments; practice what I taught you today; or better yet, uncover the source of your insomnia. The point is, there is a lot you can get done. Do not waste your time, Harry. Consider this a life lesson.”

Harry nodded quickly, asking the man standing with his arms behind his back tentatively, “Can I stay with you?” Marvolo frowned at him.

“Go back to your room, Harry.” 

“Okay,” he acquiesced meekly, but the Dark Lord felt the boy’s magic reach out, clinging onto him almost desperately. The boy couldn’t be doing this consciously, which only left the answer that he was under some sort of emotional duress. The Dark Lord released a weary breath. He didn’t quite realise how needy children were, even magically powerful ones. _Or_ he thought dryly, _especially magically powerful ones._

“Is your room not to your liking?” he inquired, probing into the cause of the child’s stress. 

“What?” At the rise of an impatient eyebrow, Harry said quickly, “No- I mean, yes! I mean-” The boy paused, eyebrows furrowed in thought as he considered his words carefully, “The room is perfect, I just… It’s just… I- Well-”

“Don’t stutter, Harry; It is unbecoming.” Harry fell silent and took a deep breath.

“I…” He took a deep breath, “May I please stay with you?” he asked again, his voice slightly shaky, and the Dark Lord was ready to order him back to his room again until he felt another wave of genuine distress emanating from Harry. His lips curled slightly as he considered his options.

“Let us retire to my study. You may stay on the condition you occupy yourself productively, and that you return to your room at the first sign of fatigue,” he said, sounding somewhat resigned. Harry brightened immediately, and the Dark Lord had to wonder how this little boy could stir up feelings he had barely felt even before he created his Horcruxes. He turned sideways and gestured for Harry to walk in front of him. Harry took a step forward but halted.

“I’ll bring my homework!” he said, turning the opposite direction, leaving Marvolo standing in the hallway with his arms crossed. He returned a few minutes later with textbooks, parchment, a quill, and ink. 

He followed the well-dressed man to the study and when Marvolo pushed open the study door, he was met with the increasingly familiar sight of a neatly kept office. The desk was tidy aside from a piece of half-filled parchment sitting in the middle and a beautiful black quill accented with white streaks and a beige plume sat in an inkwell filled with dark red ink. 

Harry sat down at the desk, and the Dark Lord watched his young student flip open his Transfiguration textbook to the relevant page and smooth the book down so it laid flat on the tabletop. He opened his bottle of black ink and carefully dipped the tip of his quill into the ink vial, brushing the access off on the lip of the bottle, and began to write. The Dark Lord had to wonder why he didn’t immediately tell the boy off for sitting at his desk without his permission, but with all the leeway he had already given him, he thought that was fairly inconsequential at this point. 

The Dark Lord pulled a book off the shelf and watched Harry work for a little longer as he settled into a plush armchair, before returning to the book in hand. He wasn't reading the words on the page, however, instead, letting his mind wander slightly. He found it quite amusing that this boy, who had just allowed a blob of ink to drip onto his desk— and then gotten his hands stained with black ink in his haste to clean it up— was, in some sense, his equal. If he had told his past self that he would one day encounter someone he even remotely considered his equal, his past self would likely have laughed in his face. _And probably try to Crucio me for impersonation_ , he thought wryly.

“I had a nightmare just now.”

The soft voice drew the Dark Lord out of his musing, and his eyes flickered briefly to Harry, looking up from the book grasped between his fingers, his thumb pausing as he was about to turn the page. He gave his attention to the boy that had just occupied his thoughts. 

Harry was spinning the quill in his hand slowly, stopping in hastily when ink splattered onto his parchment. Harry met his gaze briefly before he added quietly, “I used to live with my muggle relatives… they weren’t very nice people… and they didn’t like magic very much,” The Dark Lord filled in the blanks, feeling somewhat unsettled as another point of commonality between them was revealed.

“When was the last time you saw them?” 

“24th of August, 1986,” he said with certainty but added softly, “It was the best day of my life.” When he continued paying him attention, Harry seemed to muster the courage to tell him more. “I’m really happy that I’ve come here, but sometimes it still makes me sad to think that they’ve never… cared about me…” Harry’s face crumpled as he said the last part, and the Dark Lord realised in muted horror that if the boy started crying, he could hardly offer him any comfort. In fact, he would likely make him feel worse. Thankfully, the boy seemed to win the wrestle with his emotions.

“Sometimes, I dream that I’m still living with them… I think it’s when I go to sleep in a new place.” He shrugged slightly, “I don’t know why it still bothers me.”

Memories of the orphanage he grew up in surfaced, unbidden. _London during the thick of the Blitz. Lying awake in apprehension of the shrill warning klaxons. The horrifying whistle-_

He clenched his fist and ruthlessly shoved the memories into a mental box. He wasn’t a master _Legilimens_ without reason. Still, the experience had taught him that people can never be controlled by fear alone. It was why they saw the Old Ministry’s recruitment numbers against his campaign fall after he ordered an end to the terror raids his Death Eaters foolishly thought effective. 

Looking at the distressed boy sitting in his study, he said, “It will bother you for a long time,” Harry frowned in consternation and the Dark Lord held up a hand and continued, “But that does not mean you will not rise above it; My past still haunts me from time to time,” he added, somewhat appalled by how uncharacteristically gentle his voice was. 

At Harry’s look of interest, the Dark Lord hummed, choosing to change the subject quickly by revealing, “August 24th of 1981 was the best day of my life as well.” Harry watched him with wide-eyes, silently begging to be told the story behind the significance of the date. The Dark Lord relented— he was already giving Harry so much freedom around him, what was another little story in the scheme of things?

“The Battle of Hogwarts. The realisation that the War would be ending soon.” he reminisced. Harry continued looking at him in wonder.

“You were there?” The Dark Lord allowed a snort of amusement to escape him. He had been the main event, really.

“I was,” he confirmed with an ironic smile. 

“Wow…” Harry whispered, “What was it like?” He closed his eyes at the question, recalling the horrors of war that even he, as incomplete as his soul was, would not wish to relive. 

“Chaotic,” he said simply, “It is something I hope you will never know intimately.”

“Is that why you’re a Death Eater?” he asked, “To protect the peace?”

The Dark Lord felt his lips quirk up. The innocence of a child was quite, dare he say, precious. Of course, his cause had the best intentions behind it, but he was not blind to the suffering he had a major hand in bringing to the Wizarding World. He did not regret it-- their world had been falling apart at the seams and his new government had done, in ten years, what the Old Ministry could not fix in centuries. The Wizarding World was so much safer and more prosperous -- but the price for their relative peace now had been high. 

“I strive for the betterment of Wizarding Britain,” he corrected, “Whether that calls for the protection or challenge of the status quo, I will act upon it,” he paused, contemplating his next words. He decided now was as good an opportunity as any other for him to teach Harry a little more about the world they live in. The boy was young but intelligent, and if he didn’t understand what the Dark Lord was telling him, he had plenty of time to figure it out. 

“In any society, there are two forms of mass political participation— conventional and unconventional. The War was the culmination of unconventional political participation, and it happens when a large portion of a population are unhappy with their government but have little means of expressing their discontentment legally.”

“What were people unhappy about?” Harry inquired, having a vague idea from his Basic History classes in primary school, but wanting to hear from someone who had experienced it firsthand.

“Many things, little serpent; a civil war doesn’t happen without a myriad of factors,” he said somewhat cryptically, “But I suppose the most significant factor was the erosion of Wizarding cultures and customs in the Old Ministry. The assimilation of muggle cultures was pushing our world and culture into grave danger, and the Old Ministry began to lose support. When the government loses support, they destabilise, and political instability will see people flocking to factional leaders for guidance.”

Harry frowned, thinking over his words, “I’m not sure I get it...”

The Dark Lord dipped his head. “You are still young. You will understand when you are older,” he said, knowing Harry had the drive to learn about his world, the idea was just too abstract for a child in his First-Year. Harry nodded in acceptance. He suppressed a yawn, not wanting to be sent back to his room, but Marvolo was far too astute for him.

“I believe you will find rest easier now. You should return to bed.” Harry pouted, but Marvolo’s tone held a finality to it that Harry couldn’t quite muster up the energy in his lethargic state to argue against his mentor. He felt a brief tension pull at him as his thought drifted back to his nightmare and he felt the temptation to ask Marvolo to accompany him to his bedroom, but suppressed the desire.

“Um… g-goodnight, then…” Marvolo did not outwardly acknowledge his farewell but paid Harry his attention as he said it. “Thanks… for talking to me,” he said shyly. Marvolo gave him a nod in return. Marvolo returned to the abandoned book in his lap, and Harry turned to leave the study until he realised something.

“I just realised… It’s Yule,” Harry said.

Marvolo tilted his head, his eyebrows raised slightly. “So it is,” he agreed.

“H-happy Yule, Marvolo,” Harry wished tentatively, the last of his nerves dissipating when Marvolo smiled so faintly, Harry almost wondered if he imagined it.

“Have a blessed Yule, little serpent,” he returned, his grey-blue eyes glinting more brightly than its muted colour should be capable of. Harry left the office, feeling far lighter than he had when he first walked in. He knew, without a doubt, that sleep will indeed come much easier to him now.

* * *

Harry woke up in the morning, after a few hours of restful sleep. It was the Winter Solstice and he felt a thrum of excitement ring through him. They had never done much for the Solstice at Egladus beyond lighting candles and spending meals together, but there was always a sense of excitement and happiness buzzing in the air. They had never needed presents, only the special feast prepared for Yuletide and each other.

It made Harry a little sad that he would not be spending the time with the friends he grew up with, but he would still be spending time with someone special— his new teacher, who, despite everything, provided him with a comforting presence to find solace in last night. He was also someone who had a similar magical core to his own, and that would always make him special. Magic was incredibly important to Harry, after all.

Harry continued lying in his lavish bed until a knock sounded on his door ten minutes later. He padded over to the door and opened it, expecting to see Marvolo there. He was a little disappointed to find Mipsy the house-elf standing behind the door, but the disappointment faded quickly when she said, “Master be wanting Harry Potter to join Master for breakfast.”

“N-now?” Harry asked. Mipsy nodded emphatically, reaching out with her bony hands as if she was ready to pull Harry down to the dining room if he refused. Harry took a step back, and the house-elf enclosed into his personal space quickly.

“W-wait, Mipsy, I need to change!” The elf in question looked him up and down, and Apparated directly to his closet, pulling it open to reveal clothes he had never seen in his life. They looked expensive too. Mipsy jumped up to grab a few outfits off the hangers, and Harry suspected she was using magic as there was no way anyone could have managed to stay airborne for such a long time. The clothes floated over to Harry but dropped unceremoniously over his head. He pulled the clothes off his head and jumped when he saw Mipsy was right in front of him, staring with joy in its huge eyes.

“Harry Potter can change now!” she exclaimed, pulling Harry into the en-suite bathroom and pulling the door shut behind him. Harry took a deep breath, staring at the locked door, wondering if all house-elves had this over-the-top enthusiasm. He shook his head and began getting ready for the day. 

A few minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom fresher and more well-dressed than before, and nearly tripped over the eager house-elf standing with her face likely pressed against the bathroom door. Her face lit up when she saw Harry, and a hand shot out and grabbed his arm. Before he could even muster a yelp of surprise, he felt the familiar yet unwelcome feeling of Side-Along Apparition popping him into existence at the dining room. He found Marvolo sitting at the head of the table with an impressive breakfast spread before him.

“Thank you, Mipsy.” The elf turned to look at her master with large, adoring eyes.

“Is Master be needing anything else from Mipsy?” she asked, and when Marvolo dismissed her with a shake of his head and a wave of his hand, she bowed so deeply her nose nearly touched the floor, and snapped her finger, popping out of sight.

Harry watched the exchange in surprise. “I’ve never seen a house-elf so… happy,” he commented. There were house-elves at Egladus, and he was sure there were house-elves at Hogwarts despite not having seen any of them, but none of them were nearly quite so subservient or devoted to their masters. Marvolo huffed in amusement and gestured towards the empty seat next to him. Harry walked over and settled in next to Marvolo, grabbing a piece of toast off the spread in front of him.

“A lot of wizards underestimate house-elves because of their small stature but, as you might know, size does not translate to power,” Harry opened his mouth to rebuff that backhanded compliment but Marvolo held up a finger to silence him, and Harry closed his mouth with a pout when he saw the amused look on his teacher’s face. “A house-elf will always serve its master with admirable loyalty, but the key to a house-elf’s adoration is simply being polite to them… It is rather impressive what those little things can accomplish for you with their magic when they want to.” 

Marvolo paused to take a bite out of a piece of toast. “Be nice to house-elves, Harry. They will do a lot for you even if you are not their master. The average wizard will never respect a house-elf’s power, much less think to utilise it.” Marvolo said in a way that made Harry think he had probably taken advantage of many house-elves in the past. Still, he agreed with a nod, feeling grateful that his past self had accepted Marvolo’s offer because there was no way otherwise he would know any of these nuggets of wisdom. 

As Harry enjoyed his food, he wondered aloud, “What are we doing today?” Marvolo looked at him unfathomably, and Harry felt the need to explain himself further. “It’s Yule! Are we going to do anything special?” Marvolo leaned back, considering his question.

“How did you celebrate the Solstice in the past?” he asked finally. Harry hummed in thought.

“Well, we always had an awesome feast in the evening… and we would spend the day together… there would be decorations around e dorms,” Harry recalled, smiling. “How did you celebrate Yule?”

“I didn’t.” Harry’s surprise must have shown on his face as Marvolo elaborated, “Of course, there is the Yule Ball on the eve of the Solstice, but it seems I have neglected to attend this year.”

“You didn’t go to the _Yule Ball_ ? You mean the _Ministerial Yule Ball_?” Harry asked incredulously. It was the most prestigious and elegant celebration in all of Britain, not to mention its exclusiveness! Marvolo looked absolutely unimpressed. Harry gaped when he realised, “H-hold on! Is that where you were going last night? When I found you?”

Marvolo gave a noncommittal hum but Harry took it as a ‘yes’. “It is not nearly as wondrous as the media might portray it, I assure you. It is simply one of Lucius Malfoy’s more expensive means of posturing,” he said flippantly. Harry could hardly believe what he was hearing.

“B-but he’s the Head of the Ministry! Doesn’t he host the Ball at the Dark Lord’s courtesy?” 

“He does,” he agreed easily. “The Ministerial head hosts and invites attendees according to the Dark Lord’s desires.” Harry felt stricken at that revelation.

His voice dropped to a hush, “Wouldn’t the Dark Lord be… you know… angry…? That you didn’t go?”

Marvolo smiled. Or perhaps smirked would have been more accurate. “You needn’t worry, Harry. I am certain the Dark Lord will forgive me,” he said with great mirth. Harry frowned, not quite seeing the humour in being on the receiving end of the Dark Lord’s displeasure. “He does not always attend himself,” he added casually as an attempt at assurance, still smiling.

“Okay… if you say so,” Harry accepted reluctantly, not wanting to cause his mentor any trouble with his own problems, but assured himself with the knowledge that Marvolo certainly seemed more than capable of handling things. And he definitely knew the Dark Lord better than Harry. “So… you don’t celebrate Yule?” Harry asked, drawing the conversation back to his original question.

“No. But perhaps we can start.” He stood up abruptly, and Harry looked up in alarm. “Find me in my study once you have finished breakfast, I have something for you,” he said. Harry blinked, attempting to recall the way to the study. He had been there twice now, but the house was big and before he could ask, Marvolo had already turned out of the dining room. Harry peaked through the doorway in an attempt to give himself a clue as to where his teacher’s elusive study might be, but the man seemed to have vanished entirely around the corner. Harry huffed as he finished his breakfast, devising plans to figure out Marvolo’s whereabouts.

* * *

"What’s that?” Harry asked, curious. The study had been strangely easy to find, but Harry shrugged it off as a good sense of direction. He was sitting opposite Marvolo, who had something held in his hand to inspect. He held it out for Harry. Harry accepted it, spinning it around in his hands to get a good look at it. 

“A wand holster. If I am going to be teaching you, you will be needing your wand, and I can’t have it stolen from you, or better yet, have it breaking if you sit on it, or falling out of your robes while you are off on another schoolboy misadventure,” Marvolo said sarcastically, and Harry felt his face heat at the memory of dropping his wand when he first met the Death Eater. 

“You should slot your wand within your holster when not in use. It is laughably simple to disarm someone when they are holding their wand carelessly.” Harry smiled, feeling excited. He pulled out his wand from his robe pocket, grinning sheepishly at the vaguely disapproving look on Marvolo’s face. He slotted his wand into the holster, thinking it was a perfect fit for his wand. He pulled it out again and looked at Marvolo.

“How do you disarm someone?” He asked curiously. Marvolo smirked, and before Harry could react, his wand flew out of his hand. Harry’s mouth fell open in surprise. 

“The incantation is ‘ _Expelliarmus’_ , and you simply flick your wand away from your target. As your skills and power grow, you can catch your opponent by surprise with a wandless and non-verbal casting. For now, it will be greatly beneficial for preemptive defence, especially as your spell repertoire is rather limited right now.” Marvolo’s wand appeared in his palm, and he summoned Harry’s wand into his free hand, giving it back to the rightful owner. “Now, disarm me.”

“What!” Harry squeaked, incredulous that he expected him to be able to use a spell he had only just found out about. Regardless, Harry pointed his wand hesitantly at Marvolo when he raised an eyebrow. “S-shouldn’t we do this somewhere else?” he asked, looking pointedly at the ink vials resting on the table.

“Quit stalling, Harry. Any mess you make can be cleaned up easily. Disarm me.”

Harry took a deep breath and uttered, “ _E-Expelliarmus,_ ” but then the wand didn’t even twitch in Marvolo’s already loose grip.

“Confidence, Harry. Again.” Harry nodded, tightening his grip on his wand, and said louder, “ _Expelliarmus!_ ” The white wand in his mentor’s hand fell out of his grip. He gave him an appraising look, and Harry thought he might have been pleased with his success.

“Spells often depend on three aspects of the caster-- power, intent, and confidence. Power is inherent; there is little you can do if you are born with limited magical power. Intent and confidence, on the other hand, determines which of two equally powerful wizards will win,” Marvolo explained.

“You have great power; there is no doubt about that. You had the shallow intention to disarm me,” When Harry looked at him in confusion, he elaborated. “True desire or intention is usually borne of intense emotion; perhaps your life is in danger, or you are influenced by a particularly joyous memory. Of course, the nuances of this school of thought will delve into Dark and Light theory, but whatever the case, what you are currently lacking, is true intent and confidence. The latter is what I will build in you over time. And for that to happen, you will need to take care of your wand.” Marvolo glanced at the wand holster in Harry’s grasp. 

“Thank you,” Harry said, feeling a simultaneous burst of gratitude and guilt. “But… I don’t have a gift to exchange with you,” he admitted. Marvolo made an odd expression.

“I do not need you to give me anything. I want you to learn from me.” Harry looked at him with a sheepish smile and gave a minuscule shrug of self-deprecation. Despite that, he promised himself to find a present for Marvolo one day.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter! let me know your thoughts, i had a lot of fun responding to the comments from the past 4 chapters :) progress is kind of slow rn but hopefully chapter 6 will be out on time next week. as always, thanks for reading!


	6. January 1992

* * *

_January 1992_

Harry could scarcely believe that his Yule break was over and he was returning to Hogwarts once more. He sat on his bed, staring at the half-filled trunk before him, wishing he could stay a little longer. He jumped off his bed in shock when a soft ‘crack’ filled his room and Mipsy appeared with a bundle of something nearly as big as she was tall.

“Hi Mipsy,” he said, after his heart rate had settled down somewhat and he was certain it wasn’t an intruder that had just Apparated into his room.

“Little Master be needing food for the train! Mipsy made Little Master food!” she said excitedly, thrusting the paper bag of what Harry thought might very well be a full feast in front of him.

“Thank you Mipsy,” he said, grateful that Marvolo’s elf cared so much for him. He wasn’t certain when exactly Mipsy had started calling him ‘Little Master’, but he did know that she got incredibly upset once when Harry insisted she call him ‘Harry’. He thought it might have been when he had wandered into the kitchen for a quick snack and Mipsy ended up making him the best sandwich he had ever tasted. Of course, when he told the house-elf such, she promptly burst into tears while hugging Harry’s leg, and made even more sandwiches for him.

Marvolo had been rather amused when Harry sheepishly explained why he had a platter of sandwiches so full it could feed a sizable party.

Harry accepted the hamper of food, wondering how in the world he could finish all of that, when his door opened. He looked up in surprise and found Marvolo with his arms crossed, leaning against the door frame.

“Good morning,” he greeted, brightening immediately. Marvolo nodded in response, before he uncrossed his arms and walked over to where Harry stood with his house-elf.

“I see Mipsy has made you yet another finger-food feast,” he commented, tilting his head to inspect the paper bag filled with food. “Lucky for you, I found out and told her to make items that will last beyond a day,” he said, taking out a paper box from within the bag.

“Have you tried her biscuits?” He asked, opening the box to take out a piece and holding the opened box for Harry’s perusal, Harry picked one out as well. Marvolo somehow managed to make eating a biscuit an art form while Harry put the whole thing in his mouth to avoid getting crumbs on the floor. It truly was delicious.

“Wonderful, as always,” Marvolo said, and Mipsy smiled so widely, it almost looked painful. She bowed low, thanking her master in a wobbly voice. Harry saw tears of joy glistening in her eyes as she snapped her fingers and popped away. Marvolo looked at the spot where his elf once stood with a faint smile. Harry wondered briefly if all house-elves were that teary when treated with decency.

“Mipsy will accompany you to the platform later,” Marvolo said, drawing Harry out of his reverie.

“Alright,” he fell silent, before asking, “W-when will we next meet?”

Marvolo didn’t reply to him for a while, and Harry waited in anticipation. “Your summer break, perhaps,” he said finally. Harry could not resist the pout that formed on his lips.

“But that’s ages away!” he griped. Marvolo looked at him with an indecipherable expression and Harry suddenly felt very childish. “Sorry… It’s just… I’ll miss you...” he admitted, heat rising to his cheeks.

“I must say it has been a while since someone has had the gall to whine to me,” he said lightly, and Harry ducked his head in embarrassment at the amusement colouring his mentor’s tone. “Your second semester will pass you by quickly, little serpent, there is no need to ‘miss me’.” Harry shrugged, privately thinking he will definitely still miss Marvolo. “Though if it is any consolation to your pride,” he started, piquing Harry’s interest, “I have grown fond of your company as well,” he said, patting Harry on the shoulder. Harry’s mouth fell open ever so slightly, not quite expecting that admission from Marvolo.

“I have somewhere to be, now. Call for Mipsy when you are ready,” Marvolo informed him before he could stall packing any further, looking at his half-full trunk. Harry smiled bashfully.

“Where are you going?”

“Malfoy Manor.”

“Oh,” Harry said, not meaning to express his contempt so obviously, but his tone gave him away. Marvolo looked at him.

“Have the Malfoys done something to personally offend you?”

Harry sighed, “No… I just… don’t get along with Draco Malfoy.” Marvolo laughed. Harry looked up, taken aback. He has only ever heard the man laugh once, when they had just met, and it had not been one of good humour.

“Neither do I,” he said simply as he walked past Harry and out the door. Harry blinked.

“Bye!” He called out after Marvolo, hoping he heard him. Harry sighed once again, a little deeper this time. That last exchange just made him certain he would miss Marvolo even more than he had initially thought.

* * *

The Dark Lord found Lucius standing with Narcissa and his son before the fireplace in the foyer of Malfoy Manor when the green flames of the Floo Network flickered out of sight. Narcissa curtsied and pushed the frozen boy into a bow. Lucius stepped forward to greet him with a deep bow and a reverent “My Lord”.

“Lucius,” he returned before looking to his wife behind him, “Narcissa.” Finally, his gaze fell on the miniature copy of Lucius standing next to his mother in the Slytherin Hogwarts robes. There was a large trunk and a caged eagle owl behind them. “And little Malfoy,” he said, modulating his almost mocking tone. Narcissa squeezed her son’s shoulder, and he looked at her, puzzlement and overwhelming fear evident on his pallid face. Narcissa tilted her head towards the Dark Lord ever so slightly, her eyes never leaving the child’s. The boy caught on to his mother’s meaning, turning to face him, but dropping his gaze immediately.

“M-my L-ord,” he said shakily, dipping his head. He wondered briefly what torture the little Malfoy was inflicting on Harry, as Abraxas had on him so long ago. _Until he made him kneel, of course_. The Malfoys were no imbeciles; they recognised power when they saw it. The Dark Lord smiled, and he knew it was not a pleasant one, for Little Malfoy, who had just mustered up the barest thread of courage to peek a glance at him, averted his gaze instantly.

“Off to another term at Hogwarts?” he asked, almost polite, almost innocuous, but both Lucius and Narcissa knew not to take him at surface value. Little Malfoy, however, had yet to discern the nuances of speaking to him.

The boy nodded jerkily, but Narcissa told him quietly, “Use your words, Draco.”

He looked at her with pleading eyes, but gave him a verbal reply in the end. “Y-yes, My Lord,” he whispered.

“Always a pleasure making conversation with you, little Malfoy,” he said, sounding so genuine, even the little boy shrunk at the insincerity. The Dark Lord turned to Lucius behind him.

“You have raised him well, Lucius,” he complimented, smiling sharply, “Not quite the conversationalist, though, is he?” Lucius flinched slightly.

“He… is caught off-guard, My Lord,” he reasoned carefully. The Dark Lord hummed in vague agreement. Narcissa took that as their cue to leave.

“If you would excuse us, My Lord,” she requested softly.

“Of course,” he said, waving them off.

He walked on ahead and Lucius trailed behind him as they turned out of the foyer and walked through the halls of the extravagant manor. He saw in his periphery, Narcissa rubbing her son’s back in comfort as he clung onto her forearm. In the distance, they heard the Floo come to life as it transported Narcissa and her son to the platform.

“What does Narcissa know?” The Dark Lord asked softly. Lucius breathed sharply.

“I believe she is under the impression that we will be discussing Ministerial matters today,” he answered carefully. The Dark Lord made an agreeable sound.

“And the wards?”

“Ah… I had planned to seal the manor wards once your own have been put in place, My Lord,” he said, somewhat questioningly. The Dark Lord turned slightly to look at his right-hand man, who was starting to look a little worried.

“The manor wards will never accept the presence of foreign magical signatures, Lucius.” The man in question looked slightly more pale than usual. Voldemort nearly smiled. It was almost amusing to see such a seasoned man as Lucius fear him so disproportionately when a little boy like Harry came to him willingly for comfort after his night terrors. He supposed he knew where the little Malfoy’s fear of him came from now.

“I… I will find an appropriate solution, My Lord,” Lucius promised cautiously. Now, the Dark Lord did smile, and Lucius’ head dipped further down, averting his gaze immediately.

“See to it that you do,” he said simply, neither kindly nor threateningly. His Minister whispered a respectful “Of course,” in response. They resumed walking, and Voldemort found it hard not to relish in Lucius’ discomfort.

* * *

Harry’s return to Hogwarts had been relatively uneventful. Except when Mipsy had sent him off with a tearful wish for a safe journey, and Harry found that he was even going to miss the over-enthusiastic house-elf. She had hugged his leg tightly, and said, “Little Master is good for Master! Little Master is good to Mipsy too!” Harry had smiled slightly quizzically at Marvolo’s house-elf, unsure as to what she meant by the former half of her farewell.

“I’ll miss you too, Mipsy,” he said, meaning his words. He likely should have anticipated that that would have made Mipsy sob even harder.

In the end, it has taken about ten minutes to disentangle her from his leg and allow him to board the train. Still, when he sat down on the train and waved to the little elf through the window as the train started to pull out of the station, he could not, nor did he need to, suppress the grin that grew on his face.

Afterwards, little else happened; no one had barged into his compartment to challenge him to his claim to the seats, nor did Malfoy show up at his door ready to find a way to get him more detention. Harry had never been so grateful for an absolutely boring few hours of just waiting to arrive back at the castle. He had fallen in and out of sleep along the way, snacking on the diverse foods Mipsy had managed to squeeze into the paper bag, the book on his lap forgotten after the first hour of the train ride.

When he finally arrived in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, he found Hermione at the Ravenclaw table straining to see who was entering the Hall by the main doors. When she spotted him, she waved enthusiastically, ignoring the chuckles of her house-mates next to her. Harry made his way over to Hermione’s spot along the long bench.

“Harry!” She greeted him with a hug.

“Did you get my letter?” He asked when she let him go.

“Yes! It sounds like you had a wonderful time. I’m really happy for you,” she beamed. 

“How did you spend Yule?”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, “Padma here,” she pointed to the girl she was sitting next to, who smiled and waved shyly at him, “taught me some Wizard’s Chess strategies with Parvati,” she nodded in the general direction of the Gryffindor table.

“Her friend Hannah told us about the Hogwarts kitchen, and we had some great food there! The house-elves were so nice!” Harry smiled when he recalled Hermione’s indignance upon first discovering what she perceived as the slavery of house-elves. They had only been 10, but she had kicked up such a fuss over it, the principal of Egladus had to sit her down one afternoon to explain that a house-elf’s magical core was sustained by their bond to wizards. Harry had not been certain what transpired during their hour-long discussion, but Hermione had emerged with a staunch goal to promote elfish welfare and the fair treatment of house-elves.

“We can go there together sometime,” she suggested.

“Okay,” he agreed, glad that Hermione had a good time with her new friends.

“I think you should go sit down at your house table. The feast is starting soon,” Hermione said, and Harry looked around, finding that the Great Hall was nearly back at full capacity. He nodded and bid goodbye to his friend. Walking briskly, he slid into an empty space at the Slytherin table opposite Nott, who nodded at him in acknowledgement.

Malfoy sat a few places down on the opposite bench, his head propped up by his hands, his usual air of arrogance and smoothness conspicuously absent. He dropped his arms, folding them in front of him when Parkinson squeezed in beside him and Zabini found an empty spot opposite him, but it could not disguise his dejection. Something had shaken Malfoy, and Harry was quite curious.

As usual, the Headmaster chose not to make a speech of any kind, waving his hand to signal the commencement of dinner. The food appeared on the table, and Harry suddenly felt a deep admiration for house-elf magic.

“What’s wrong, Draco?” Parkinson asked loudly. Malfoy shushed her, but it was too late, having drawn the attention of many others around them. She blushed slightly, but when Malfoy remained stubbornly silent, the curious glances turned back to the feast in front of them.

Malfoy looked around to ensure that he only had the attention of his gang with him. Harry looked pointedly down at his plate, stabbing the piece of chicken with his fork. The Hall was noisy, but Malfoy was not sitting so far away that he could not hear him if he was paying attention. Malfoy sighed. “The Dark Lord came to see Father,” he said at last.

Harry’s eyes widened. Across from him, he saw surprise flicker on Nott’s face.

“When?” Zabini asked, sounding more curious than concerned for his friend.

“Before I left to take the train.”

“Did you see him?” Parkinson asked, rather redundantly, and clearly, Malfoy seemed to think so as well, for he pinned her with a look that said “obviously”. Harry looked away before they could realise he was listening in.

Zabini shifted, leaning in. “What was he like?” he asked. Malfoy made a noise that was halfway between a groan and a huff. Zabini did not relent, looking at him with intent, “Did he talk to you?” he pursued.

Malfoy said something too soft for Harry to hear, but the sentiment was clear when Parkinson patted his shoulder in commiseration. Harry almost felt bad for him. He couldn’t imagine having the attention of someone as intimidating as the Dark Lord on him. But he didn’t think it was something he would ever have to worry about.

* * *

Harry walked into the Potions classroom, settling down next to Nott as he had for the past few months. “Hello,” he greeted politely, not quite expecting a response, but Nott raised his hand in an aborted wave. “Did you have a good Yule?” he asked, somewhat emboldened by Nott’s acknowledgement. He turned to look at Harry, but didn’t respond. Harry shrugged minutely, hanging his bag off the back of his chair.

“It was fine,” he responded, much to Harry’s surprise. It wasn’t much, but it was more than their usual silent partnership. “I saw you on the train,” he continued, surprising Harry further at the attempt to sustain conversation.

“Oh… I was staying with someone,” he revealed ambiguously.

“‘Someone’?” He repeated with amusement. Harry smiled, and was about to respond when Malfoy brushed past their workbench, turning to give Nott the stink-eye. The brown-haired boy next to him raised a brow at Malfoy. Harry looked between the two of them, wondering what he was missing at this exchange. He walked away to his seat, Parkinson appearing a few moments later to sit in the adjacent seat of their workstation.

“Um… Did something happen between you two?” Harry asked in a low voice.

Nott made a vaguely irritated noise, “He’s just being an arse about every little thing,” He made a gesture that told Harry he was not going to answer his questions beyond that. Harry released a tired breath; did Malfoy really have to ruin everything? They were almost friendly for a moment there.

At that moment, Professor Slughorn ambled to the front of the classroom and the class quieted. He instructed them to concoct the Forgetfulness Potion, talking them through the process, and giving them additional tips to create a better potion. The rest of the lesson contained minimal conversation between him and Nott, constrained mostly to the task of brewing.

When Potions ended that day, Harry was left with a faint feeling of disappointment. The class had gone wonderfully, but Harry felt like a child that was given candy and then had it taken away from him. His relationship with Theodore Nott had been cordial and even approaching friendly and he could not figure out why his Potions partner had immediately shut down Harry’s attempt to make conversation after Malfoy’s appearance.

He sighed deeply... He has been doing a lot of that lately. Harry deeply longed for his old friends from Egladus. He wondered how Seamus, Dean and Justin were doing. Probably better than me he thought ruefully. He should probably write them sometime soon. Tyler as well, he realised belatedly. He was probably having the time of his life being an actual Death Eater. Harry frowned, wondering how he had managed to neglect his old friendships following his admittance to Hogwarts.

Rounding the corner, he heard tense voices carrying over to where he was. He backtracked immediately, but neither of the interlocutors noticed his presence.

“...Need to stop… with Potter,” came Malfoy’s I-always-get-what-I-want voice. Harry bit his lip as he heard his name, straining to hear the entirety of the conversation. He stopped right at the bend, pulling his satchel tighter to his person as he inched closer, and more of their conversation drifted over to him. He heard Nott scoff at Malfoy.

“Don’t worry Draco, Potter won’t threaten your social standing yet,” he said in a deceptively light tone. Harry had to wonder how his classmates, despite being 11 years-old, could sound so much like adults.

“What do you mean ‘yet’?” Malfoy asked, his voice rising in irritation. “He will never be better than me!”

“Keep it down, will you?” Nott hissed, and Harry saw him narrow his eyes at Malfoy, and the blond huffed in annoyance. Their conversation grew quieter, consisting of sharp words whispered too quickly and inaudibly for Harry to make out accurately. Harry rubbed his arm in an attempt to dispel the uneasy feeling of being talked about in contempt.

He was ready to turn away to find another route to walk, until he heard Nott scoff loudly once more, turning his back to Malfoy and walking away. When Malfoy’s face came into Harry’s view, it was clear that whatever Nott had said to the boy did not please him, for his normally pale face was red and contorted in a scowl. In a flash, he had whipped out his wand, pointing it to Nott’s back.

“ _Flipendo_!” Nott turned around to face Malfoy in surprise, sidestepping the Knockback Jinx by a hair’s width.

“ _Expelliarmus_!” rang out in the corridor just as the pale yellow light of the jinx zipped past Nott and dissipated harmlessly when it hit the stone wall at the end of the corridor. Malfoy’s wand was ripped out of his hand, the invisible force so strong it made him stumble and trip back, his fall only broken by the stones of the castle wall.

Harry’s grip on his wand tightened, his eyes were wide as he watched Malfoy rub his head and push himself back up, groaning as he scrambled rather inelegantly into an upright position. _So that’s what Marvolo meant by true intention_ , he thought numbly.

“H-how dare you attack me!” He snarled, glaring viciously at Nott as he picked up his wand with one hand and brushed his robes off with the other. His bag laid on the floor, forgotten.

“Goblin calling the house-elf short, Draco; Let’s not forget you drew your wand first,” Nott retorted calmly, unyielding in the face of his fellow First-Year Slytherin throwing a temper tantrum. “Besides,” he continued casually, “I didn’t do it.”

“What!” Malfoy asked incredulously, pure-blood stoicism all but forgotten, “You’re the only other person here, Theodore!” Nott shrugged dismissively, which only served to infuriate Malfoy further.

Harry breathing quickened, and he backtracked. He cringed at the sound of his shoes shuffling against the cobblestone, finding it unusually loud in the tense silence of the corridor. When his bag accidentally scraped against the coarse walls of the castle, it made a rough sound that had two heads turning to his direction.

Harry froze. Should he run? Could he run?

In the time it took him to make a decision, the two pure-bloods appeared from around the corner. Nott’s eyebrows raised in surprise when he realised it was Harry while Malfoy’s sharp feature twisted into a deep scowl.

“You!” Exclaimed the blond. “You won’t get away with this,” he promised ominously, stepping forward to encroach in Harry’s space. He backed into the wall. Nott rolled his eyes in the background.

“Once again, Draco,” he said, drawing their attention back to him, “You tried to attack me first. If you report Potter, I will be sure to let them know the full story.” Harry bit his lip to stop his mouth from falling into a gape.

“You’re on _his_ side?” Malfoy accused immediately, eyeing Harry like he was something disgusting on the bottom of his shoe.

“I’m on my own side,” Nott corrected easily.

Malfoy huffed imperiously and straightened, walking off to tug his bag off the floor. He glared at Nott. “You should be careful, Theodore. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort,” he warned. He pulled his bag over his shoulder, turning his glower to Harry. “My Father will hear about this,” he threatened, walking away in the direction of the Slytherin common room. Nott snorted beside him as the blond head disappeared around the corner, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

“Thanks…” Harry said quietly.

“Watch your back, Potter. Draco isn’t exactly someone you want as an enemy,” he cautioned, not unkindly. Then he smirked as he eyed the wand still in Harry’s hand, “Although, maybe you can handle yourself.” Harry shrugged with a smile tugging at his lips. They walked beside each other.

“Wouldn’t you have to watch your back too?” He asked. Nott folded his arms.

“I can take care of myself,” he returned matter-of-factly, “There isn’t much that Draco’s capable of that I haven’t seen.”

“Are… Are you friends with him?” Harry asked tentatively, finding it incongruous that they call each other by their first names, yet seemed to dislike each other. The brown-haired Slytherin next to him made an odd expression.

“We’ve known each other for a long time,” he answered elusively. “Our families are allied,” he said by way of explanation. Harry nodded slowly, having a vague basic understanding of pure-blood politics.

“Perhaps we would’ve been better friends if the War was still going on, and our position as Dark supporters put us in danger,” he mused, “but as it is, we maintain a certain distance.”

“Perhaps he wouldn’t be so arrogant if he was in a dangerous position.”

Nott smirked a little wider. “I doubt that. He’ll always have Daddy to protect him somehow.” Harry turned to look at Nott worriedly, reminded of Malfoy’s parting threat.

“His Father’s far too busy to deal with every little squabble Draco gets himself into,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. They fell into silence.

“Why… Why are you so… nice to me?” Harry asked, feeling a little confused. “It’s not as if I saved your life or anything.”

“You disarmed a threat to my safety. Like I told Draco earlier, I’m on my own side, and anyone that protects me and my interests gets a thumbs-up in my book,” he said easily. “Besides,” he continued with a smirk, “I pretty much like anyone who Draco doesn’t.”

“So… A-are we… friends?” Harry asked nervously. Nott shrugged.

“Sure. Looks like you could use one, Potter,” he said in a tone that made Harry smile despite the bluntness of his words. He stopped walking and Nott turned to face him in surprise. He stuck out a hand.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Harry Potter, but please call me Harry,” he said with a soft smile. His new friend opposite him gave an amused snort and did the same. They grasped each other’s hands.

“Pleasure. My name is Theodore Nott Jr., but you may call me Theo.” Harry grinned, and they shook hands once.

“Where did you learn the Disarming Charm anyway?” He asked once they continued walking, “It’s one of the harder Second-Year spells.”

Harry shrugged slightly, deciding that he will tell Nott— _Theo_ — who he had spent his holidays with and what he had learnt one day, but not yet. “I like to read ahead.” Theo looked at him, somewhat disbelieving.

“You’re full of secrets, aren’t you?” He said, and Harry laughed.

 _Just a few_ , he thought privately, smiling when Theo shook his head.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a chapter that ends on a sweeter note! wondering what you guys think about the pacing of the chapters? there will probably be a time skip of a few months by next chapter cuz i dont really think we want to go about the mundane everyday life of first year hogwarts students. just let me know what you think! Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and chapter 7 should be out next week!


	7. June 1992 - July 1992

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i sprained my hand not long after the last chapter came out and it was kind of hard for me to type for a while. got pretty busy thereafter and now im in the middle of my exams so i'm not too such when the next chapter will come out. soon i would hope. i will finish this story, updates will just be irregular. thanks for being patient!

_June 1992_

The remaining months of Harry’s first year at Hogwarts passed quickly. With Theo as a friend and ally, he found that Malfoy no longer saw him as an easy target, finding his new victims in some poor fellow First-Year Hufflepuffs. That didn’t mean he had stopped antagonising Harry though, Harry just felt safer knowing he had someone in his own house that had his back. 

It was just a few days from the Summer break now, and they were receiving their overall results for each of their classes. It hadn’t been a great day for Harry-- no, he had done quite well for all his classes, but ever since he found a pure-blood’s result to act as an academic yardstick, he had discovered disheartenedly that Professor Carrow was unjustifiably strict in his marking of Harry’s work, finding any reason, however absurdly small and meaningless, to penalise him. 

“What’s the difference between a jinx and a hex?” Harry read the question aloud, frowning as he looked at his answer which had been marked wrong. Theo glanced over curiously, dutifully supplying his own answer, which had a tick next to it.

“Jinxes are minor dark spells with temporary physical effects, while hexes are moderately dark spells that create temporary magical effects.” 

Harry reread his answer, the frown on his face growing deeper. “That’s almost exactly what I wrote!” Theo leaned over to read his answer, blinking in slight confusion. It said _A jinx is a minor dark spell that produces temporary physical effects. A hex is a moderate dark spell that causes temporary magical effects._

“Is something the matter, Mr. Potter?” Professor Carrow asked from behind them, sounding like he didn’t really care if anything was wrong. Harry swallowed.

“I-I was just wondering why my answer is incorrect, Sir.”

The Professor picked up his script off his desk, looking at his answers indifferently, replying, “You failed to include a comparative conjunction, Mr. Potter. Your answer simply lists the characteristics of jinxes and hexes.” He placed the parchment back onto the desk and walked off, heedless of the other queries lodged in Harry’s throat. Theo had a vague look of incredulity on his face that disappeared as quickly as it came.

“Translation:” he muttered under his breath, “You failed to be a pure-blood.” Harry smiled despite the situation he found himself in. 

The next day, the top ten list for each of their seven classes as well as overall First-Year results was put up in the space outside the Great Hall. The lists gave Malfoy yet another ego boost that Theo rolled his eyes at. 

“How did I put up with him for so long,” he muttered rhetorically as they wandered into the Great Hall for breakfast. “How are you spending your Summer break?”

Harry shrugged, “Heading back to Egladus. I’ll probably just spend time with my primary school friends and get my homework done. What about you?”

“Father has business in Bulgaria, and my options are either to follow him or spend the break at Malfoy Manor because he doesn’t think I can take care of myself for a few weeks.”

Harry winced sympathetically. Those didn’t sound like great options if Theo’s tone was anything to go by.

“So I’ll be spending at least half of Summer in a foreign country with only a stuffy old man.” 

* * *

Harry suppressed the sigh that threatened to escape him. Theo looked like he would rather be in Bulgaria with his Father-- and Hermione looked like she would rather have been told that her access to the Hogwarts Library has been suspended indefinitely-- than to be sitting in the same compartment as each other. 

The moment the train pulled into the station, they both shot up from their seats, scrambling to gather their belongings and leave the compartment. Hermione hurried out before Harry even managed to fully stuff his books back into his bag.

“Someone’s in a hurry, aren’t they?” Theo said snidely. 

“Sorry,” Harry said. Theo waved off his apology.

“Don’t apologise, I feel worse for you, having to spend your holidays with her. Can you believe she managed to spend fifteen minutes _lecturing_ me about how I should hold my wand? I don’t even think Ollivander can spend that long talking about wands. How long has she even had a wand? Only amateurs grip it that tightly with their entire hand!”

“She’s not that bad-” Theo made a vaguely disagreeable sound and Harry abandoned his attempt to defend Hermione. “Well, have a good break Theo. See you when school resumes, yeah?”

“I’ll write to you if I have the chance. Bye,” he agreed, leaving the compartment too. Finally, Harry sighed and pulled his satchel over his shoulder and left.

He found Hermione waiting next to one of the teachers from Egladus, together with a few other Hogwarts students that stayed in the dorms of Egladus. The teacher marked his name off on the register when she saw him. 

“Hey,” he greeted quietly, “Sorry about… that…” he finished lamely. Hermione inhaled deeply. 

“You don’t need to apologise for him. I don’t like him at all, but since he is your friend, I will put up with him, although I do think you need to make better friends.”

“He _is_ a good friend-” Harry started but was interrupted quickly. 

“Really! A ‘good friend’ wouldn’t care about my blood status, or bring it up at all in a conversation about proper wand grip! Did you see how he was practising the Levitation Charm?”

“Hermione, I think he knows what he’s doing-”

“But his grip was nothing like the one shown in _The Standard Book of Spells_ -” Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes, well aware of Hermione’s worship of books which, if he were to be honest with himself, has rubbed off slightly on him. But he knew from watching the way Marvolo handled his wand during the Yule break they spent together, that the way they were taught to hold a wand during Charms was not the only, or in fact the best, way to hold it. It was simply the most intuitive, and thus the easiest for First-Years to get used to. 

Her tirade against Theo was cut short when their teacher announced that they would be departing via Portkey in a few minutes. Hermione fell unhappily silent next to Harry when the boy shrugged helplessly in response to her words. Harry was unwilling to get into an argument with her, yet he was not going to concede that she was right.

* * *

_July 1992_

“Hey Harry!” Justin greeted him as he came into their shared room. Harry was playing Exploding Snap with Dean and Seamus. “Mrs. Hogan wants to see you.”

Harry blinked, wondering if he was in trouble. “What for?” He asked, hoping Justin knew why. He shrugged. 

“She was talking to this bloke kind of scary-” Harry felt his eyes widen in anticipation.

“W-was he really tall, well-dressed, blue eyes?” 

Justin looked at him weirdly, while Dean and Seamus paused their game to stare at him. “Uh… I guess? I… I didn’t really look… Do you know him?”

“I might! Thanks Justin, see you guys later!” Harry ran out of their dorm room.

He bounded into the room just in time to see Mrs. Hogan bow deeply to Marvolo. He caught his mentor’s eye and the man gave him an appraising look.

“Hi!” he greeted with a wide grin, surprised he was actually right about Marvolo being here, silently asking the question of what he was doing here. Marvolo returned a miniscule smile as he walked over to stand in front of him and smooth down his absurdly messy hair. 

“I trust you have been well?” he said, looking at him. Harry shrugged but his continued grin gave away his happiness at seeing Marvolo. 

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, curious yet excited.

“I will be giving you access to your family’s vaults. Your teacher here,” he glanced at Mrs. Hogan, who averted her eyes quickly and dipped her head, “will bring you to Gringotts to set everything in order.” Harry’s mouth fell open in shock.

“H-hold on, I have a Gringotts vault?” he asked, his heart beating quicker in excitement.

“Of course. The Potters were quite wealthy and the contents of the vaults are rightfully yours now,” he answered simply. 

“Really? How much money is in there?” Harry bounced on his feet as his grin grew impossibly wide.

Marvolo placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and he settled down slightly, still buzzing with excitement. “There is more than just money, little serpent, and I shall let you discover for yourself when your teacher brings you to Gringotts.”

“Can you bring me?” he blurted out, feeling shy when Marvolo raised a brow. He hasn’t seen him in a long time, and as he mentioned before he returned to Hogwarts after the Yule break, he would, and had, missed Marvolo. 

“Harry…” Mrs. Hogan interjected gently, eyeing Marvolo slightly worriedly out the corner of her eye, “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea… h-he’s a busy man, dear,” she said softly.

“But-” he started, looking at Mrs. Hogan, before he was interrupted by Marvolo.

“You may join me tomorrow at Diagon Alley, if you wish; there is something I must collect.”

“Really?” When Marvolo gave him a bored look, he exclaimed quickly, “Alright!”

He turned to look at Mrs. Hogan after his exclamation with a hopeful gaze. She frowned slightly, but nodded quickly to give him the silent permission to go with Marvolo. When he moved towards the doorway where Harry had originally entered from, the boy turned to say, “See you tomorrow!” 

“Indeed,” Marvolo agreed, his lips quirked up ever so slightly. Harry watched as he walked out of the room, his silhouette growing smaller as he made his way to the Apparition point. Harry turned back around, the smile that he had unconsciously been wearing on his face fading when he saw Mrs. Hogan’s troubled expression.

“Is everything alright, ma’am?” Mrs. Hogan gave him a strained smile. 

“I… I need you to be careful, Harry,” she said, glancing at the doorway Marvolo had just left from, “H-he is a… powerful man.” 

Harry frowned, biting his inner lip. “He won’t hurt me,” he said with a certainty he didn’t know he had felt. He knew he hardly had any reason to, except for his couple weeks spent in the man’s company, and perhaps he was being naive, but couldn’t explain it, he just felt _safe_ with Marvolo. Mrs. Hogan frowned, unwilling to dispute his claim, yet unwilling to concede.

At last, she sighed. “He… might not hurt you directly , but he… surrounds himself with dangerous people.” 

This time, Harry frowned. Mrs. Hogan reached out to pat him on the shoulder, “I just need you to be careful, dear.”

“I’ll be careful,” he promised carefully, looking at her with concern. She smiled at him but her face had not quite lost the pained quality from before. 

* * *

The next day, Mrs. Hogan brought him to an oddly empty Leaky Cauldron through the Floo, where he waited for Marvolo. 

The man had appeared moments later, Apparating in from the designated Apparition point next to the Floo Network. Harry grinned, giving Marvolo a little wave. He stood from the seat he had taken conveniently to wait for him, turning to say goodbye to Mrs. Hogan. His smile faltered when he saw the troubled look from yesterday had returned to her face. She patted him on the shoulder, her head remaining in a bow. 

“Remember what I told you yesterday, Harry,” she took a deep breath, “Don’t anger him… be respectful… just… be careful, my dear,” Harry looked at her in confusion, but nodded anyway.

“You don’t need to worry, Mrs. Hogan; Marvolo was really nice to me during the Yule break,” Harry said in an attempt at reassurance. However, Mrs. Hogan’s face gained a vaguely horrified quality. Before Harry could defend himself and before she could say anything further, Harry felt a hand land on his back, right beneath his neck. He didn’t have to look up to know it was Marvolo; the man was cloaked in a familiarly comforting magic. 

“Is there a problem, Faustine?” Marvolo asked politely, yet sounding strangely threatening. Harry looked between the two of them. It was the side of Marvolo he had mostly forgotten existed following their couple of weeks spent together at Riddle House. It was a side of him that made Harry a little afraid if he was to be honest. Mrs. Hogan, too, sensed the predatory undercurrent of Harry’s mentor, her already bowed head, dipping a little further, her stance a little more subservient. Harry bit his lip and leaned further into Marvolo, who wrapped his arm around his narrow shoulders. 

“N-no, of course not…” she replied, her voice quiet.

“Good,” he said, not sounding at all pleased in any way. Harry felt Marvolo give him a gentle push from the hand resting on his back and he glanced quickly at Marvolo, who gave him a significant look. Harry resisted showing a pout on his face, shuffling further away from the two tense adults. He saw Marvolo shift sideways slightly so Harry’s view was almost completely obstructed by his back. The faint whispers of their conversation dissipated in the air before Harry could catch anything of significance. This time, he did pout, running his fingers along the seam of his Slytherin cloak, which he had thrown on for the trip, to stave off his growing boredom.

Finally, Marvolo was done talking to Mrs. Hogan, who looked unusually pale, even in the dim light of the Leaky Cauldron (which Harry noted was still suspiciously empty). Marvolo beckoned Harry over with an outstretched arm and he bounded over eagerly. Mrs. Hogan turned towards the fireplace with barely a glance back at him. He frowned slightly as he heard the Floo activate once more behind him, turning around to catch her… _fearful_ gaze before the lime green flames licking at her feet flared up and she was taken away by the blaze. 

“What did you talk to her about?” Harry blurted out, his curiosity winning over his respect for the privacy of others.

“I don't believe that is your business, little serpent,” Marvolo said in reply, yet despite his curt words, there was little bite to his tone. Harry shrugged and gripped Marvolo’s forearm as he started walking towards the entrance to Diagon Alley. The man looked at him, an odd expression flitting across his face too fast for Harry to discern, but he did not pry Harry’s fingers from his arm.

“Why is the Leaky Cauldron so empty today?” He ended up asking. 

“Aren’t you full of questions today?” Marvolo commented without answering his question. Harry gave him a pleading look and Marvolo’s lips curled slightly in dark humour. “Perhaps the usual patrons had a reason not to come today,” he said at last, frustratingly ambiguous, while pulling out his pale white wand.

“Then why did we come?” Harry couldn’t resist asking. Marvolo turned to look at him, his wand still outstretched. 

“Do you mean you would rather it be full of bumbling people?” He asked pointedly. Harry titled his head sideways in contemplation. “I thought not,” Marvolo muttered. He tapped the bricks in a pattern Harry tried his best to memorise from watching, and the wall rumbled, shifting itself into an archway to welcome them into the main Alley.

Diagon Alley itself had not quite lost its magic for Harry, and he had to consciously stop himself from looking around in amazement like some starry-eyed First-Year. He was older than that now. Marvolo guided him around by the hand resting on Harry’s shoulder, steering him away from the sights and sounds of the Alley towards the towering marble building at the end of the main street. 

“Gringotts, Harry,” he said, amused. Harry sighed dramatically in response, but walked a little closer to Marvolo. He smiled when the man did not pull away. 

Gringotts Wizarding Bank was an imposing building. That was clear to Harry as he stopped walking and warily eyed the sign above the entrance of the pristine structure. Marvolo paused beside him, following his line of sight to read the inscription.

_“Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn,_

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there.”_

Harry swallowed. No, that warning poem was not welcoming at all. 

“We are not here to steal anything, Harry. You hardly have to fear the goblins,” Marvolo said, taking in Harry’s stricken expression. _Right, Gringotts is run by goblins_. Out of his peripheral vision, Harry saw Marvolo roll his eyes.

“Has anyone ever stolen anything from inside Gringotts?”

Marvolo looked thoughtful, and answered, “Not successfully, to my knowledge, though I hardly make it my business to know every going-on with Gringotts. The goblins are largely autonomous.”

“So they get to decide what happens to thieves?” Harry asked, surprised.

“For the most part, yes. The goblins had signed a treaty with the New Ministry after the end of the war detailing the extent of their jurisdiction over crimes committed within their walls.” Harry made a face-- why did Marvolo have to use such big words all the time?

“Oh…” Harry uttered after a while. “Well… what happens to people who steal?” He asked out of morbid curiosity, not entirely sure if he actually wanted to know. Marvolo smiled in a way that made Harry certain he _did not_ want to know.

“Actually, don’t tell me,” he interrupted hastily, rubbing his hands together nervously. If he was going to have to spend the near future within Gringotts, he did not want to lose his resolve so quickly. Marvolo’s hand returned to his shoulder, pulling him towards the door.

“Come now, I don’t have all day,” he said, pushing the grand doors open effortlessly. The goblins closer to the entrance glanced up when they came in, giving them an appraising look. Harry pressed into Marvolo’s side. One of them curled their lips in disdain when they met Harry’s eyes. He looked away quickly.

“I don’t think the goblins like me very much,” he whispered to Marvolo.

“There is no need to take it personally; they look at everyone with contempt,” he said lightly. Harry looked at him incredulously. 

“They’re not looking at _you_ like that,” he pointed out.

“I am hardly ‘everyone’, Harry,” Marvolo justified dryly, “and neither will you be when you come into your power.” Harry looked at him, halfway between flattered and puzzled why Marvolo had such unwavering faith in this ‘power’ he had yet to actually properly demonstrate. 

They reached the main counter, the goblin seated behind the high desk grumbling under his breath, a quill in hand scratching away at the parchment hidden behind the counter. He looked up the same time Harry repressed a shudder at the strangely menacing aura suddenly permeating the air around them. Surprise flashed briefly on the goblin’s sharp features, the vaguest of frowns flickering across his face as he glanced at Harry before cantering his attention on Marvolo. 

“Your Lordship,” he greeted. Marvolo replied in a string of guttural sounds. The goblin looked pleased, his sharp teeth showing as he dipped his head towards Marvolo in respect. He disappeared behind the counter and walked to the back, where he soon appeared with another goblin. 

“This is Griphook, Your Lordship. He currently oversees the Potter vaults as his forefathers before him have.” Griphook bowed low. 

“You will go with Griphook to settle your inheritance. I have business with the Head Goblin.” Marvolo only responded with a gentle push from the hand on his back, ignoring Harry’s wide-eyed look.

“Follow me, Mr. Potter,” Griphook said, turning back where he came from. Harry glanced back to where Marvolo stood, seeing the man speak softly to the Head Goblin. He shrugged minutely, jogging after Griphook who, despite his small stature, had managed to make it quite far from Harry in that short span of time his attention was diverted. He was led to a simple room with a desk and two chairs. 

Griphook took the larger chair that allowed his short stature to go above the table. The goblin gestured to the other, normal-sized chair opposite him and Harry took it. 

“Your wand, please, Mr. Potter, for identification purposes.” Harry took his wand out of its holster and handed it to the goblin. It was placed upon a piece of parchment on the desk and Griphook waved a hand over it, causing ink to spread over the parchment, forming words.

“Everything appears to be in order,” he commented as he handed Harry his wand back. “Within your trust vault, created by your parents before their death, contains 13, 648 galleons, 7, 591 sickles and 15,983 knuts. You may not access the main Potter vaults until your 17th birthday, which contains 84, 137 galleons, 36, 253 sickles and 801 knuts-” Harry gaped at all the money that was apparently his, but the goblin continued.

“-You will also gain access to a cottage in Godric’s Hollow that once belonged to your parents, and No. 12 Grimmauld Place, left to you by your godfather, upon your 17th birthday. Do you have any questions?” Harry stared blankly, _I have— had?— a godfather? I have all that money? I have houses? As in more than one house? What am I supposed to do-_

“Mr. Potter?” 

“Um… H-How can I withdraw my money?” 

Griphook nodded, “Gringotts can provide you with a pouch that refills monthly with an amount decided by you. It will, of course, be enchanted with anti-theft spells. All this for the low price of four galleons.” 

Harry agreed to purchase the pouch, and for it to refill with the amount of ten galleons, five sickles and 100 knuts monthly. He took out a little extra to purchase his school materials for his second year. He met up with Marvolo again in the main lobby after he retrieved his money, holding tightly onto the pouch and clutching his bank statement. 

“I didn’t think my parents had so much money,” Harry commented, going over the statement again as they walked out of Gringotts, handing it to Marvolo’s outstretched hand. The Death Eater looked over the parchment, frowning slightly.

“I was under the impression the Potters had more than this, but I suppose they must have spent a significant amount financing the Order’s cause.” Harry remained silent. 

“I have a godfather,” Harry said softly. Marvolo gave a considering hum. “Do you know him?”

“Sirius Black?” he read off the parchment, “Perhaps we met once or twice on the battlefield, but no, I cannot say I knew him.”

“Oh… he was a… an Order member too…?” Marvolo turned his gaze to Harry, who sounded uncharacteristically dejected.

“Harry,” the boy looked at him, a little surprised, “I’m certain you would not like to hear this, but your family was deeply involved with the Order. It is likely that many of your parent’s friends are on the run or no longer alive.”

Harry nodded, understanding but not liking it at all. Marvolo pushed him lightly into a store, Harry hadn’t quite realised they had already walked all the way to the entrance of Flourish and Blotts. “Get what you need for your second year, I will return momentarily.” Harry nodded, wondering briefly where Marvolo was going, but the man left before he could ask any questions. Harry entered the deceptively small shop and meandered through the sprawling interior, picking out his new textbooks before browsing through texts that haven’t been prescribed in his most recent Hogwarts letter. He felt a budding sense of great excitement at the thought that he had the funds to purchase additional books and items from any store in the Wizarding World.

“What’re you doing here, Potter? Do you even have money to buy anything?” Harry whirled around to find Pansy Parkinson standing behind him. Harry rolled his eyes and tried to push past the girl further into the bookstore. Before he could react, he heard Parkinson say, “ _Conruo_ ,” the jinx making him trip into the towering bookshelves. Luckily, he stopped the books from the top shelves from falling onto him, but that didn’t mean that there weren't books now scattered around his feet. The girl snickered behind him as he brushed himself off with a glare and picked the books up to slot them back into their rightful places. When he turned back around, Parkinson had left back to the back of the store. Harry sighed and continued putting the books back.

“I leave you for ten minutes and you have ended up on the floor re-shelving the store,” Harry jumped when he heard Marvolo’s vaguely disapproving voice. He turned around to see Marvolo peering down at him with a slight smile. He stood up sheepishly, patting the dust off his knees and grabbing his purchases off the ground. Marvolo shrunk them with a flippant wave of his hand. 

As they walked out, Harry felt someone shove into his side, causing him to stumble into Marvolo. The man barely budged, catching Harry by the shoulders. He turned around to catch Parkinson walk off, her arms still full of books. “She’s quite the little muggle,” Marvolo said idly beside him. He steered Harry around to face Flourish and Blotts again, much to the boy’s confusion. Then, Harry saw him raise his right hand slightly, flicking his wrist smoothly. They heard a sharp shriek and the sound of heavy books crashing to the ground with a thud when Parkinson suddenly lost her grip on the books. 

“What spell was that?” Harry asked, tearing his gaze away from the chaos in the store. 

“A simple _Relashio_ , you would have already learnt it.” Marvolo said. A small smirk graced his lips as he eyed a couple strutting into the store. “This is a wonderful opportunity to attempt a little silent spell-work, Harry.” Parkinson had just picked her books up again. He pulled his wand from his holster.

 _Relashio_ , he thought with great concentration, imagining the scene from before. The girl yelped again as an inexplicable force ripped her hands off her textbooks. The second time this happened, it garnered more attention from onlookers, who shook their head and made disapproving noises.

“Pansy!” he heard a woman exclaim in a scandalised voice, “Be more careful! You were raised better than this!” 

“The state of pure-bloods these days,” he commented ironically, the smirk on his face growing more pronounced “Rather embarrassing, wouldn’t you say?” Harry had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing, while Marvolo turned him towards the Leaky Cauldron again. 

* * *

Harry woke up on July 31st to the sound of an owl scraping at the window. He hurried to open it, wondering if Theo had found time to write to him again. It hopped in and Harry couldn’t help but admire the beautiful snowy owl perched on the window ledge. He took a small package off its talon. Inside, he found owl treats and a short note. He grinned as he read it.

> _Little serpent,_
> 
> _Owls are terribly useful pets, and she yet to be named._
> 
> _Happy birthday._
> 
> _TMR_

Looking back to the owl watching him with inquisitive eyes, he recalled a memorable witch from _A History of Magic_. “What do you think of the name Hedwig, girl?” The owl hooted once and Harry stroked its wing with the back of his fingers. He ran to his school trunk, pulling out a piece of parchment to pen a quick thank you note to Marvolo. Blowing on the ink, he asked Hedwig quietly, mindful of his still-asleep roommates, “Can you send this back to Marvolo for me?” Hedwig hooted again, as if upset that Harry thought it wouldn’t be up for another trip. Harry fed her a quick treat, attaching the note onto her outstretched claw.

Harry smiled contentedly as he flopped back onto his bed, watching Hedwig fly off through the little window by his bed.


	8. October 1992

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, i suck at updating but this was a very fun one to write, and hopefully a fun one to read for you guys!

* * *

_October 1992_

Severus Snape bowed low as he walked into the room, the big double doors shutting behind him with an ominous thud. The ebbing pain in his left forearm from the Dark Lord’s summons subsided with his growing proximity to the red-eyed man lounging in his seat at the head of the table. “My Lord,” he intoned carefully; he always refrained from making any sycophantic comments.

“Severus,” the Dark Lord returned, gesturing to a seat beside him. Severus took it graciously as the Dark Lord asked, “Your report?”

There were never many pleasantries exchanged nor small talk made with the Dark Lord. Severus nodded once, murmuring, “Of course, My Lord. The Graduating Class of 1999 contains 149 new students-- 14 of whom are from Egladus Institution. We have a fairly standard distribution of students across the four houses; that is to say 35 Slytherins, 39 Ravenclaws, 42 Hufflepuffs and 33 Gryffindors. The dossier of each student is within this file,” Severus said stiffly as he slid a thick folder onto the table, which the Dark Lord picked up, leafing through the summary casually. “From a preliminary assessment of this cohort, some notable new students include heirs of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families-- Andrew Avery, the Carrow twins, Hestia and Flora, and Hector Selwyn.” The Dark Lord made a noncommittal hum of agreement. Severus had come to learn over the years that that meant that he was losing interest. Good; the quicker they ended this meeting, the better for his continued good health and mood. 

“What of the Class of ‘98?” He asked idly, “Has your initial assessment differed?”

“No, My Lord. My report to you the year before has proven accurate; there are few noteworthy individuals within the Class of 1998. Those few would include Lucius’ heir, Draco. He is at, or near, the top of all his classes, and will make a fine addition to your forces, My Lord.”

“If ever he gets over that genetic Malfoy conceit,” he responded sharply, “He can barely speak to me now, much less become a competent Death Eater.” Severus dipped his head in acknowledgement. He knew the Dark Lord had no fondness for Draco and even he could admit that his godson was more than a little arrogant. However, he doubted the Dark Lord was at all interested in any defence Severus might consider offering on behalf of Draco. In the end, he didn’t say a word further on the matter, choosing to move on.

“Theodore Nott has a son in that year, Theodore Nott Jr. Similar to Lucius’ heir, he has the potential to do well…” Severus paused slightly considering how to continue his report, which has deviated slightly from the planned agenda. 

And any deviation meant a longer audience, which was, once again, not in the interests of his continued good health and mood.

He took a breath, resolving to wrap up this tangent as quickly and cleanly as possible. “Following that, there is a mudblood who lags not far behind Nott Jr. in class assignments… Granger, I believe her name is…” He considered briefly bringing up Harry Potter, but decided against it. “Daphne Greengrass has proven herself rather competent as well,” he said instead. 

The Dark Lord gave another one of those noncommittal hums. The man at the head of the table remained silent for a while, and his Occlumency shields were the only thing stopping Severus from shifting uncomfortably. The Dark Lord looked up from the folder, fingering that wand that has caused so many so much pain. He waited. 

“What are you omitting, Severus?” The Dark Lord asked, cocking his head, and the soft words made the back of Severus’ neck prickle with cold fear. He met those ruby eyes for an instant, feeling the man lazily prod against his Occlumency shields, but retreating without doing anything.

“I… am uncertain what you mean, My Lord,” he murmured with confidence he didn’t feel. 

“You were volunteering information about a mudblood to me,” he said almost patronisingly, like it explained —and Severus supposed that in a way, it did— the Dark Lord’s suspicions. 

He has been dealing with children for too long, he thought with a grimace. There was no way he would have given himself away this easily during his time as a spy. 

The Dark Lord glanced back down at the folder, the ghost of smile still on his face. Any display of emotion from the Dark Lord made Severus wary under even the best of circumstances and none more than seemingly friendly smiles. “Harry James Potter,” he said at last and Severus hoped the Dark Lord did not notice the way he stiffened, “Within the top five positions of every one of his classes,” and there was now a tinge of something Severus couldn’t quite place in his tone. Sardonicism? He could not tell, but filed it away into his mind. The Dark Lord was likely just doubling-down on the torment after he tried to avoid the topic of the Potter boy. What more could there be to it?

“-and yet you have remained oddly silent about the boy,” the Dark Lord continued. Severus swallowed, ignoring the way his heart flared with anger and longing when his thoughts wandered briefly to Potter and Li-

He fought down the sigh his very soul wanted to release. Even after all those years. He steeled himself, banishing all those pointless, distracting thoughts. No, he could not slip up anymore, not with this man watching him with a bored gaze. 

“I apologise, My Lord… From what I can ascertain… Mr. Potter’s takes after his traitor Father; his…” Severus suppressed a scowl at what he was about to say, “…Magical talents are secondary to his penchant for creating trouble.”

“Trouble?” Severus _hated_ how interested the Dark Lord sounded. They were going to be on this topic for a while. 

“The boy had, in his possession, a cursed object,” When the Dark Lord remained silent, Severus volunteered more information carefully, “A letter, he claimed to have been sent by one of your own.”

“One of my faithful servants has the impudence to teach the boy of my enemies?” Oddly enough, the man did not sound angry; his voice halfway between the peculiar tone from earlier and… was that _amusement_ he heard? He let his eyes close for a little longer than a natural blink. Oh, what he would give to know for even a moment what the Dark Lord was thinking.

Still, his words made Severus wary. He did not feel an ounce of sympathy for whoever it was that was foolish enough to have taken Potter under their wing. If he had to sit here in cold discomfort because of Potter, they deserved to get whatever the Dark Lord was planning in his sinister mind. 

Regardless, he dipped his head in concurrence, offering, “I will conduct an investigation into this… conspiracy, should you will it, My Lord?” He hardly expected anything but an affirmative, but with the way this meeting had derailed so spectacularly, he wasn’t quite willing to risk assuming. 

“No,” he said, and Severus suddenly had the impression that he was _really_ missing some bigger picture. “I would not bother with an investigation. The child of James and Lily Potter should not be left to fester into a threat,” He tilted his head, murmuring, “Do you remember the prophecy you brought me nearly…” He paused, humming in thought, “twelve years ago?”

Severus maintained his stoic mien, but felt his heart plunge into his stomach at the non-sequitur. He truly despised having not even the barest inkling of what the Dark Lord was thinking. “I do,” he responded in a measured voice. 

“Then it is time for you to finish what you started,” the Dark Lord said matter-of-factly. When Severus remained carefully silent, he continued, “I have reason to believe that he is the boy the prophecy speaks of,” Severus didn’t think it was possible for that sickening feeling he felt developing within him get worse, but it did, and he dreaded where the conversation was going. 

“Kill him.” 

Severus remained stock-still, reminded of why, despite his distaste of children, his posting to Hogwarts was something he continued to be grateful of. As Headmaster of Hogwarts, the only danger he contended with on the daily were the silly pranks of schoolchildren and the pointless scheming of overly-ambitious faculty members. He had the Dark Lord’s undivided attention a merciful three times a year at most, during conferences such as this. The man was usually more invested in Ministry matters during Inner Circle meetings. 

Unfortunately for him now, that same privilege has put him in an impossible position. 

“My Lord…” he started, “If I recall accurately, the prophecy… implies that the boy has… immense power,” he paused, “He could be… useful in the future.” 

“Your opinion is duly noted, Severus,” the Dark Lord said in a way that he knew was mocking only after his years of service. “Though I must admit you have planted doubt of that in my mind. I struggle to consider what use someone with a ‘penchant for creating trouble’ could have.” Damn. 

“The death of… a child would not reflect… well, My Lord,” he knew he was pushing it, but he couldn’t — _wouldn’t —_ kill the child of Lily. 

The Dark Lord shrugged slightly, the all-too-human gesture completely incongruous with the murder plot unfolding before him. “I have full faith that with your expertise, an unfortunate accident that no one could possibly have foreseen will befall poor Harry Potter. The Wizarding World will soon mourn but eventually forget the untimely death of one so young.” 

There was no way out once he had made up his mind. Severus closed his eyes, prepared to give the Dark Lord his impossible promise. “My Lord—”

“Of course we will not kill the child,” he interjected irritably. _What?_ “If I wanted him eliminated, I would have done so twelve years ago. I imagine infants are easier targets, wouldn’t you say, Severus?” Only the Dark Lord would speak of infanticide with the same nonchalance as a discussion about ‘this terrible rainy weather we’ve been having for the past few days’. It was what differentiated him from the likes of Bella or Antonin; his indifference stark against their bloodthirsty reverence of death. 

“That… would be my assessment as well.” 

“And while I find your undying love for Lily Potter most heart-warming,” he continued sarcastically. Then, his voice took on a dangerous hue, “I do not quite appreciate it interfering with the duty you have sworn to me.” He smiled, and it almost would’ve been sweet if Severus didn’t know the man better. “Till death do _us_ part, Headmaster.” His Dark Mark flared, making his left arm twitch. 

At that moment, a knock sounded at the door, and the Dark Lord waved an impatient hand to allow the doors to swing open. The young man Severus recognised as the Dark Lord’s private secretary stepped in with a bow. 

“My Lord,” he greeted respectfully, before he turned briefly to Severus and acknowledged, “Headmaster,” and returned his attention to the Dark Lord. “There is a matter requiring your urgent attention. Code Silver.” The Dark Lord nodded for him to continue. Severus, being an Inner Circle Death Eater, was privy to information protected under all Codes except Black, which was only for the Dark Lord to know.

“DEFence has engaged in combat with the Order of the Phoenix three minutes ago in Diagon Alley. They believe Mad-Eye Moody is among them.” Severus blinked in surprise. Could this day get any worse?

“Some Second-Year students have been brought to the Alley today for their historical investigation project,” the Headmaster supplied. 

On the surface, it almost seemed as if the Dark Lord was indifferent to the news but the curling of fingers and the vanishing of the traces of malicious humour from his eyes were all telltale signs of his mounting irritation.

“Defer my appointments for the rest of the day,” the Dark Lord ordered, and Severus found himself privately admiring the young man’s calmness as he replied (“Already done, My Lord.”) something even seasoned Death Eaters found themselves lacking in the face of the Dark Lord’s fury. Though, he supposed, one doesn’t survive over five years as the Dark Lord’s private secretary without being somehow extraordinary.

“Return to Hogwarts, Severus. Relay the identities of the missing students to the DEFence Office,” Severus nodded in acknowledgement. “I will deal with this nonsense personally,” he said with a roll of his eyes, as he conjured an outer robe to drape over his person. 

“Oh, and Severus? Remember what we spoke of today,” he said darkly before Disapparating. 

The Dark Lord’s private secretary released a breath of relief and the almost unnoticeable tension in his shoulders faded away. “That went… well…” he muttered, giving Severus a stressed smile. “Everyone over at Admin is working themselves into a right blue funk. I had at least four people wish me luck on my way here.”

“Is this incident not generating a mountain of work for you, Mr. Reynold, or do you simply prioritise idle chatter over your job?” He asked acerbically in response, his mood foul following the Dark Lord’s departure. 

The stressed smile turned strained. “I would ask you the same, Sir,” he returned mildly, dipping his head in a little bow, “Have a good day, Headmaster.” The young man collected the files left on the table from their meeting, before he turned to leave out the doors he came in from, completely unfazed. Severus wondered briefly if he had really lost that much of his intimidation factor over his decade at Hogwarts, but decided Coen Reynold was simply used to worse. After all, when one dealt with the basilisk on a daily basis, another snake, no matter how big, hardly had the same effect. 

* * *

Harry stood at the back of the crowd of Second-Year Gryffindors and Slytherins, next to his History of Magic professor and Theo. He had thought it would be more interesting than this, but regardless, it was still slightly better than sitting through Professor Tyser’s class. Harry felt a little bad thinking of that. He thought the History professor was a nice woman, she just wasn’t terribly interesting. Their guide today sounded like he was trying hard not to recite the information already in their history books. He did have hope for the second part of this trip though, when they were allowed to work in pairs to discover the history of a particular shop in Diagon Alley from the shopkeepers themselves. 

“I don’t get it. We can find all of this in the library, why can’t we just skip to the second part?” Theo griped next to him in a stage-whisper. Harry shrugged.

It was quite apparent that Theo wasn’t the only Second-Year that was quickly losing interest, from the way the rest of them were beginning to behave. Malfoy was sharing the story of how his Father let him accompany him into Knockturn Alley, and how he had wandered the Alley and it’s terrors alone. 

“I bet you a galleon some of the Gryffindors have already snuck off to the shops,” Theo muttered. Harry glanced at him, before they both looked away, their vantage point from the back of the crowd letting them count those with red-lined hoods or red and gold scarves inconspicuously. 

Harry had gotten to 25 of the 32 Gryffindors in their year when his gaze paused on a Gryffindor boy practicing the Levitation Spell under his breath on a small piece of cobblestone chipped off from the path. Harry watched the pebble intensely to see if his fellow Second-Year would be able to perform the simple charm they learned over a year ago.

Suddenly, the pebble flew upwards. Harry would have thought it was a successful casting of the spell had it not been for the deafening explosion a distance away from where they stood. Wizards and witches ran in all directions from the site of the explosion, not unlike ripples in a pond spreading outwards, away from the danger.

Someone shouted, “It’s Mad-Eye!” and havoc broke loose amongst the pure-bloods whilst the rest stared around in confusion. 

“What’s going on?” He asked Theo. 

“It’s the Order! The Order of the Phoenix! Bunch of Dumbledore fanatics!” He yelled back. The guide and professor could not stop the panicking Second-Years as they ran for whatever cover they could find to protect themselves from the explosions that were progressively coming closer. The crowd pushed and pushed, fear controlling the minds of wizards and witches alike, they moved like herds of spooked animals, threatening to stampede over Harry unless he moved away. He turned to pull Theo with him but found himself alone.

Harry did not know which way he was travelling with the aimless scattering of people in all directions. He crashed and collided into countless people for what felt like hours, when it was likely only about five minutes. He let out a shocked gasp when someone pulled on his school cloak.

“Are you in need of an optometrist, Harry? You are running _towards_ the blast sites, you foolish boy,” came the familiar snide voice of Marvolo. Harry had never been so relieved to see someone in his life. Before he consciously realised what he was doing, Harry had his arms stretched out and was ready to tackle him with a hug until he felt a force pinning him still and a dangerously calm voice saying, “Don’t.”

Harry looked up to Marvolo and… his face was all _wrong_. Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but between the shape of his face and the style of his hair… something was different. Similar enough for Harry to know it was Marvolo, but… different all the same.

And, for the first time, he saw vibrant garnet eyes staring right back at him. Harry felt his own eyes widen at the sight. 

Another explosion rocked the earth beneath them. His heart was racing so fast, he barely felt the tremor of the cobblestone beneath his feet. A shudder ran through him; whether it was from the explosions or his muted shock was unclear. 

“Get into that shop and do not move until I come for you, do you understand?” Marvolo ordered so casually Harry almost thought he wasn’t in danger, until screams resumed and smoke filled his nostrils. He wrinkled his nose at the smell.

“Maybe I can-”

“No.”

“But if you-”

“ _I_ can take care of myself, Harry. The answer is _no_.” Harry felt a sudden calm wash over him, _he didn’t need to help_. He turned around, on a one-track mind to hide in the shop as Marvolo had instructed. When the man disappeared from his sight, the feeling faded along with him and Harry was left crouching in a corner of the empty, dilapidated store. 

Red eyes. Since when did Marvolo have red eyes? 

Was…? Was Marvolo the… _the Dark Lord_ …?

No. That- that’s _absurd_. H-he _can’t_ be—

A blast far too close to the shop for comfort rattled the window panes. Voices shouted something too indistinct for Harry to understand, but too loud for Harry to feel like he could conceivably remain hidden for much longer. He looked around the shop frantically, spotting a back door, which he crept to quickly. Prying the door open slowly to guard against the inevitable creaking of the ancient-looking door, Harry squeezed himself through the gap he created out to the Alley. 

There was a fragile, disconcerting peace where he stepped out — a foreboding, calm-before-the-storm feeling permeated the normally bustling shopping street. He tried to derive his location in the desolate Alley, clamping down on the debilitating fear he felt rising up in him whenever he heard shouting. 

He sped-walk in the direction he guessed the Leaky Cauldron was, away from the chaos, praying he might run into his schoolmates. The sound of something crashing behind Harry had him whipping around in startled fright. He kept his head turned around, his eyes darting around rapidly, scanning for invisible threats. 

The wind was knocked out of him when he collided with a wall in the middle of the path—

Wait, what? A _wall_?

Oh no. Oh _no no no no no-_ Harry couldn’t _believe_ his rotten luck. That was no Death Eater. The man turned quickly, wand at the ready. And then… he lowered it in confusion. “James?” Harry looked between the gobsmacked man and the lowered wand and decided his best option was to run as quickly as possible in the opposite direction. 

“ _Impedimenta!_ ” Harry gasped as his feet lurched to a stop against his will, helpless as the Order member ran to him. Drawing his wand from its holster, he shakily begged his magic to work, “ _Expelliarmus!”_

The man’s wand flew out of his hand, much to his evident shock. Encouraged by that, Harry pointed his wand to his feet, saying, “ _Finite Incantatem_ ”. He felt the feeling in his feet return and he stumbled away in a half-run as the numbing sensation from the jinx wore off. He ran in a zigzag manner, hoping that would throw the caster off and allow him to escape.

Harry’s lungs burned as he ran, stumbling on the rough ground, pure adrenaline the only thing keeping him upright and going. _Where was Marvolo?_ He wondered desperately.

* * *

When the Order realised he was walking among his Death Eaters, almost all of them Disapparated, the sensible ones dragging their more foolhardy, too-brave-for-their-own-good compatriots with them before the Anti-Disapparating Wards could be set in place over the whole Alley. 

Lord Voldemort strolled down one of the side-alleys of Diagon Alley with his wand held loosely in his hand, the emptiness a novelty to him. They were practically playing cat-and-mouse with the remaining few Order stragglers at this point. Moody had escaped after wreaking havoc, much to his annoyance, but they have now captured three Order members, and he knew there were more still around to be caught -- the wards around the Alley prevented Apparition and appearance-altering spells.

He caressed his wand with his thumb absent-mindedly when he stopped at the turn onto the main boulevard and spotted a figure in the distance running clumsily down the wide walkway. He was prepared to fire a stunning spell at the runner until he took in the wizard’s small stature, messy hair and black Hogwarts robes--

For the second time in one day, Lord Voldemort rolled his eyes. He was surrounded by _fools_.

Casting a Disillusionment Charm over himself, he eyed Harry as he sped past, followed by the man running after his errant protégé. Dedalus Diggle. He shot him with a quick _Stupefy_. Diggle will make a most fruitful interrogation. With a _thump_ , the wizard fell to the floor, bound quickly by magical rope thereafter. 

But still, Harry kept running.

Lord Voldemort stepped out to the boulevard and watched him, wondering how much longer the boy was going to run for before he noticed that no one was after him anymore. Eventually, the boy snuck a glance behind himself, slowing down when there was no one behind him. He hid in the shadows of a side-alley, hands braced against his knees as he fought to catch his breath. 

Walking up to Harry, he cancelled the Disillusionment, commenting, “I was certain I asked you to stay in that shop.” The boy flinched violently, backing up against a wall, still panting hard.

“O-oh, thank… thank Merlin,” he muttered breathlessly. “And I did! I did stay in that shop.” Children really were ridiculous, the Dark Lord thought.

“You may very well have the dubious honour of being the worst liar I have ever met.”

Harry shot him an indignant look, “I was in the shop,” he defended, “But then I heard some noises so I left… I didn’t want Order people finding me…”

“I had the shop warded,” he said pointedly, “And I seem to be mistaken in my belief that you had more self-preservation than to run out into an active battleground.”

“I was fine!”

“If I hadn’t stunned Diggle, how long would you have been able to keep running?”

“What kind of a name is ‘Diggle’?” Harry muttered under his breath, “And I don’t know, I would’ve figured something out!” Then, something else hit him, “Hold on, how long has he been stunned?”

“A while.”

“So I was just running for no reason?” He didn’t answer, and Harry rubbed his hands over his face tiredly, giving him a pouty look. The boy caught his eyes, and a look of unease replaced his sulk. “Why do you look…. different?” Lord Voldemort considered how to answer the question, but his silence seemed to unnerve Harry even more, as the boy took to fidgeting and glancing around.

“I think you know the answer to that, whether you choose to believe it or not.”

Harry swallowed visibly. “S-so… so you’re… you’re-”

“I am the same person you have known since you ran into me one year ago.” Harry fell silent, hugging himself as he stared at the ground. Lord Voldemort walked back out to the main boulevard to sort out the mess the Order made. And, he supposed, to give the boy some time alone.

He found Barty standing over Diggle with a small team of lower-ranking Death Eaters. The lot of them dropped into a bow when he approached them. “My Lord,” Barty greeted eagerly, “We have found and apprehended seven Order members and Diggle here,” he reported, kicking the man on the ground, “will be quite the treasure trove of information.”

“Good. Bring them to the Palace dungeons.” The group of Death Eaters moved to do his bidding while Barty gave him a quick status report.

Harry wandered out in the middle of Barty's report, frozen when he caught sight of the Death Eater. He walked over warily when Lord Voldemort beckoned him to his side. “Um…” he mumbled, uncertain, “C-can I still call you Marvolo?” He asked in what the Dark Lord was sure was supposed to be a whisper, but was loud enough for Barty to catch.

“You may. In private,” he said pointedly.

Harry eyed their company, mumbling again to him, “Sorry… uh- My Lord…?” Lord Voldemort suppressed the urge to, for the third time in one day, roll his eyes. He turned to Barty, who had an almost comical expression of confusion on his face that he was most valiantly attempting to mask.

“Bring Harry here back to his schoolmate.” When Barty agreed, he continued casually, “And no one will know about _this_ , will they, Bartemius?” 

Barty licked his lips nervously, “Never, My Lord,” he assured.


	9. October 1992 - November 1992

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the aftermath of the big reveal and the big attack! I really got sucked into writing this chapter, which is why it's 1000 words longer than my usual chapters and it's not even like... 3 months late! this one gives some detail into how Voldemort's government is run and sort of how propaganda is utilised by his government, and I had way too much fun writing him terrorising people subtly. hope it's an enjoyable read, cuz I have no idea how long it'll take me to get the next one out

* * *

_October 1992_

Barty couldn’t help but glance back at the kid that walked slightly behind him. Who was this kid and what in Merlin’s name had he just witnessed? 

The kid — _Harry,_ he had been told — caught his gaze briefly but looked away just as fast. He ran a hand through his hair as if self-consciously trying to smooth down his impressive mess of hair. He continued to pat down the shoulders of his robes, which had gained a slight grey tinge from the dust in the air. He smoothed down the front of his clothes as they kept walking. Still, Barty could not stop his eyes from flicking to the boy far too often to be passed off as ensuring that he was still following behind. 

And it was clear from the kid’s expression that he thought so as well. Barty could not believe that this little kid, who spoke to the Dark Lord like he wasn’t _the Dark Lord,_ and dared speak to him with anything but a reverent ‘My Lord’, had the gall to look at Barty like _he_ was the inexplicable one. 

“Are you a Death Eater?” The kid asked him unexpectedly. Barty blinked, surprised to be addressed by the thus-far silent boy. 

“Yes,” he answered simply, but couldn’t quite resist adding a few more lines of introduction, “Barty Crouch; Inner Circle Death Eater, an honour given only to the most loyal.” He had to hide his smile at the thrill of joy that still hadn’t worn off, even after all these years, at dropping the ‘Junior’ from his name following his Father’s death. When he saw the kid’s impressed look, however, that suppressed smile appeared on his face. 

“Wicked,” he murmured under his breath, “Do you think I could be one too? When I leave Hogwarts?” 

Barty shrugged, though he was glad they were no longer walking in silence, leaving him to stew and consider the possibilities of the boy’s association with the Dark Lord. “Our Lord seems to know you,” he said ambiguously, hoping the kid would elaborate upon what he saw just a few minutes ago. 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, and Barty resigned to accept the somewhat disappointing answer when he said more, “Mar-” the boy paused, running his hand through his hair again, making it messier. Barty wondered for a moment why Harry called the Dark Lord by that name. “O-our Lord…” he started, a disconcerted look flitting across his face that Barty might have mistaken for well-concealed disloyalty had he not watched the boy interact with the Dark Lord before this conversation they were having. Harry shrugged slightly, his measured silence broken by his decision to reveal what he was doing with the Dark Lord. “...Has been teaching me more about magic.”

Barty felt his mouth fall slightly open in surprise; his Master had taken on a new protégé. “Huh,” he murmured, giving the kid -- and Merlin, he really was just a _kid_ \-- an appraising look. “The new me,” he commented, suddenly thinking himself rather old as he recalled those very same words Bella said to him years ago and bestowed them upon the young Slytherin.

“He taught you too?” Harry asked, curious, drawing him out of his wandering reminisce.

“Yes,” he confirmed, “Though I must admit I was much older than you at the time. You must have quite some power if Our Lord is willing to invest in a kid like you.”

“I am not a kid,” the kid muttered indignantly. 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, kid,” he ignored the glare of protest levelled at him, “I hope you don’t speak to the Dark Lord like that,” he said, and added after some thought, “Or look at him like that.” He also hoped that the somewhat uncomprehending, uneasy look currently on Harry’s face did not spell an untimely end to the kid. There was little his Lord despised more than disrespect. 

He couldn’t believe he had grown vaguely fond of the kid after such a short conversation. He supposed he need only look at the immediate mutual respect and understanding he shared with Bella to understand this budding relationship. There were so few of them that the Dark Lord deemed worthy to share his great wealth of knowledge with, after all. 

They walked the rest of the way to the Leaky Cauldron in silence, Barty guiding Harry towards the frantically pacing Professor Tyser.

“Mr. Potter!” Professor Tyser looked quite ready to break into a sprint towards Harry.

She looked him over for any obvious injuries, but Barty interrupted with a simple, “He’s fine.” 

The Professor glanced past Harry to see him. “Mr. Crouch!” She greeted, her voice higher than what Barty guessed was normal, with a little nod of respect. He gave Harry a little push towards the fireplace connected to the Floo Network. 

“Your Professor will bring you back to Hogwarts now,” the kid nodded amicably. “It was a pleasure to meet you. See you around, kid.” Harry smiled despite Barry’s choice of endearment and waved goodbye to him. 

As he watched the green flames of the Floo whisk the two people away, he found himself hoping that the boy would retain some of that purity through his education. Barty was glad that full-on War was long past them, for the kid’s sake. But now, he had to return to clean up the mess the Order has made. 

* * *

Harry arrived at the Hospital Wing to be fussed over by Madam Pomfrey before he was released to rest in his dorm room with a prescription of Calming Draughts and Dreamless Sleep Potions. He ignored Malfoy’s entirely insincere exclamation of “Oh Potter! We were so worried you died at Diagon Alley when you didn’t come back with us!” 

He found Theo alternating between pacing and sitting on the edge of his bed. “Hey,” he said by way of greeting, and Theo looked up quickly. The usually neutral expression he wore on his face gave way to surprise, then relief. 

“Where did you go?” he nearly shouted. Harry shrugged. 

“Got a little lost… some Order guy chased me around a bit,” he explained as he placed the vials Madam Pomfrey gave him on his bedside table. When he turned back around after a moment of silence, he found Theo gaping at him. 

“How… how are you still alive?”

“Someone… else… helped me,” he said ambiguously. Theo continued to look at him disbelievingly. “What?” he defended, “It’s true!”

“No,” Theo said, shaking his head, “It’s not that I don’t believe you, I just can’t decide if you’re the luckiest or unluckiest person I know.”

“A bit of both, I guess,” Harry said with a self-deprecating grin. 

“I can’t believe all of that happened and you’re… not even in the Hospital Wing,” he muttered, and then he glanced up, “That ‘someone else’ must’ve been good.”

“Yeah…” Harry agreed offhandedly, thinking about Marvolo. 

In hindsight, it made sense how Marvolo had so much power, seemingly beyond even that of a high-ranking Death Eater; Mrs. Hogan’s warning to be cautious around him; How Marvolo would act as if he was in on a private joke whenever Harry asked him questions that would have had obvious answers if Harry had known his true identity. 

Harry nearly choked on air when he realised he had gotten the Dark Lord to comfort him after a nightmare during his Yule break last year. 

_Yule_. He went to Malfoy Manor after Yule and Draco Malfoy had whispered about meeting him. Hang on. Does that mean he actually shares a brother wand with the Dark Lord? He felt his mouth fall open when he recalled Ollivander’s words from over a year ago.

_“We do not speak his name.”_

Harry picked up the vial of Calming Draught when he felt himself growing faint. How could he have been so oblivious?

How much of what Marvolo told him had been true? If he hadn’t told him about such a fundamental part of his identity, was anything he said true? _But what could the Dark Lord gain from a nobody Hogwarts-student like me?_ Harry wondered despairingly. He downed a few gulps of the potion quickly, ignoring Theo’s concerned look.

“Are you all right?” Harry nodded absent-mindedly and Theo gave him an unconvinced look but changed the topic, “You should probably eat something after you take that potion,” he suggested. Harry cast a quick _Tempus_ to see the time and realised nearly the entire day had slowly passed him by, and dinner was already being served in the Great Hall.

“Yeah…” he acquiesced faintly. Harry cleared his throat, “Yeah, let’s go.”

They had just about settled into a couple of spaces at the Slytherin tables when the Great Hall was greeted by the unexpected sight of the morning owl hordes, each bird carrying a copy of the special evening edition of The Daily Prophet covering the day’s incident. Theo collected the copy from one of the owls, giving it a few knuts for the delivery. Harry leaned over to read the article, thinking he should probably invest in a subscription with his recently-inherited money – _Oh Merlin, he dragged the Dark Lord to the bank with him_ – as he served himself a spoonful of chicken. Theo slid it over slightly so he could read it better.

**THE EVENING PROPHET**

_30 OCTOBER 1992_

ATTACK ON DIAGON ALLEY: 12 DEAD, 49 INJURED, AND 5 MISSING. 7 ORDER MEMBERS CAPTURED! BREAK-IN AT GRINGOTTS ATTEMPTED

_By Terrence Jinson_

_LONDON — An attack at the popular shopping hotspot has rocked the Wizarding Community. A series of magical explosions shook the Alley early this afternoon. This is believed to be caused by the terrorist organisation calling themselves the ‘Order of the Phoenix’. As of 4 PM, 61 witches and wizards were reported injured, 12 of whom have succumbed to their injuries, and five are yet to be found. Investigations into this security breach are ongoing. The goblins of Gringotts have also reported an unsuccessful break-in into their vaults at the same time._

_17 magical explosions have been recorded following preliminary investigations carried out by the Death Eater Forces for Defence (DEFence) on-site. 20 individual magical signatures belonging to unregistered persons have been detected at the site of the explosions, which experts believe are caused by the spell ‘Animi Concitatione’. Victims of the blast have been known to suffer from magical burns, similar to those caused by the Fiendfyre Curse. “The Order preaches about the so-called evils of Dark magic, yet when it suits their nefarious purposes, they are unafraid to use some of the most devastating spells Dark magic has to offer upon innocent civilians in an unprovoked attack,” commented one healer involved in triage operations at Diagon Alley. The healer asked not to be named for fear of retaliation from the Order._

_The DEFence was present to curb the attacks and restore order in the vicinity. It is estimated that 30% of the Alley will be shut down for restoration works._

_Seven known Order of the Phoenix members, including Dedalus Diggle, 54, were apprehended at the scene, after being hit with stunning spells by Death Eaters present. Their holding location is not disclosed to the public._

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had organised a school trip extending from 11 AM to 4 PM for Second-Year students. Students from Gryffindor and Slytherin House were caught in the incident. Fortunately, all students were evacuated to safety and none have received serious injuries. Our team at the Daily Prophet has reached out to the Hogwarts School, but Headmaster Severus Snape has declined to make a statement._

_Head Goblin Bogrod of the Diagon Alley branch of Gringotts Wizarding Bank has reported an attempted break-in amidst the chaos between 2.46 PM and 2.51 PM. “Gringotts will not publicise the details of the breach so keep your noses out if you know what’s good for you,” said a Gringotts employee. The bank has stated that they will be sending letters notifying all owners of affected vaults._

_Other casualties were shoppers and shop owners at the Alley; Madam Mallory Malkin, 47, owner of Madam Malkin’s Robes for all Occasions, is currently receiving medical attention at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. As of 4 PM, Search and Rescue operations are still ongoing._

_Our team here at The Daily Prophet would like to extend our most heartfelt condolences to the victims and their families._

_The Daily Prophet’s detailed timeline of the incident can be found on Page 2._

“They wreaked some serious havoc there…” Theo murmured, pointing briefly at the photograph. Harry took in the moving picture of smoke rising from a semi-destroyed section of Diagon Alley. 

As confused and wary as he was of Marvolo being the Dark Lord, he couldn’t help but feel immensely grateful for the man that saved him from that Order maniac that was dangerous enough to be mentioned in the newspapers. Because as much as he liked to tell himself otherwise, he had had no idea how he was going to get out of that one without adding himself to the casualty count.

* * *

_November 1992_

A few days after the attack on Diagon Alley, an excited murmur broke out over the Great Hall at breakfast after the owls delivered the day’s edition of the newspaper.

“Woah,” Theo mumbled beside him, Harry gave a soft questioning hum in response, hoping the other boy would just tell him what was going on while he helped himself to some breakfast. No such luck though, as Theo said in the same reverent tone, “Look at this!”

Harry peeked at the newspaper over Theo’s shoulder and couldn’t quite hide his surprise (or was it excitement? Anticipation?) when he saw Marvolo taking up the front page. Though, on closer inspection, it appeared to be more the Dark Lord on the front page than Marvolo. 

Harry shook himself out of his rumination about the various facets of Marvolo’s identity and focused instead on what piqued Theo’s interest. His heart started beating a little faster when he read the headline. 

**THE DAILY PROPHET**

_2 NOVEMBER 1992_

EXCLUSIVE: INVESTIGATION COMMITTEE MEETING CHAIRED BY THE DARK LORD REVEALS ORDER MOLE IN MINISTRY!

“They’ve published the entire meeting! We can watch it!” Theo whispered excitedly. Harry looked at him in confusion. 

“Watch it?” Theo gave him a strange look. 

“Have you ever picked up the newspaper?” Harry shrugged sheepishly. They got copies of The Daily Prophet everywhere, every day, but he never did find it particularly interesting. “You know how normal pictures move? The Prophet’s got this special film development potion that uses stored memories as an ingredient to make the photograph replay the memory. They only use it for big stories like this one. It’s pretty neat.” 

“Wow,” Harry mumbled, somewhat awestruck. “How do you get it to work?”

“Just look at it.” And both their eyes turned towards the large photograph. True enough, it came to life, and Harry watched, transfixed as the Dark Lord appeared from the side, walking to the head of the table which already held four people, none of whom were seated. There was a coat of arms looming on the wall above the Dark Lord’s seat; it had a double-headed eagle with two wands gripped in its talons, and a crest with a stylised ‘M’ in the middle. Encircling it all was a snake eating its tail. An ouroboros if Harry recalled correctly. He returned his attention to the shifting people within the photograph. 

* * *

The Dark Lord sat down elegantly, resting his arms on the table, his fingers interlaced. The others took their seats around him. One man sat slightly away from the table with a stack of parchment. 

“Good evening. On October 30th, a tragedy occurred within our borders, at Diagon Alley, claiming the lives of 14 mages,” began the soft voice of the Dark Lord. There was a tense silence at the table, the four other people seated there looking at anything but the man at the head of the table. 

“Before we begin, I would like to extend my deepest condolences to those who have lost their friends and family in this attack. Wizarding Britain mourns with you, and I propose that we dedicate a moment of silence to honour their memory.” The Dark Lord’s piercing red eyes glanced to the Prophet’s nervous memory-recorder. 

Of course, no one in their right mind would refuse the suggestion, and when he stood, the rest took the cue from the Dark Lord to stand. The moment passed with a heavy silence. The five people resumed their seats at a gesture.

“What is going on here?” He started, eyeing those around him with an unreadable expression. “We are not at war. This was no accident.” The Dark Lord toyed with the quill in front of him as he spoke, his wand lying innocuously next to his right hand. “Mages and children visit the Alley every day -- we divert resources to growing our population, and now over a dozen people have been senselessly slaughtered by terrorists.” He released his loose grasp on the quill as his fingertips tapped the wood of the desk irritably, the dark ring he wore on his middle finger glinting ominously. 

“How could this have happened? There were DEFence patrols, there were emergency protocols. How was this crisis managed?” He demanded. He flexed the fingers of his right hand slowly in the silence. “I would like to begin with the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes,” he stated, glancing at the man seated on his immediate right. “DEFence will corroborate,” he said, lifting his left index finger ever so slightly to point at the witch at the end of the table. She nodded an affirmative, though her finger fiddled with the spectacles in her hands.

“How were the Search and Rescue operations conducted, and what is being done to help the victims?” He questioned, leaning back in his seat as he gestured impatiently for the wizard to speak, “Mr. Fudge.” The pudgy, nervous man nodded jerkily.

“M-my Lord, colleagues,” Cornelius Fudge, Head of the DMAC began shakily, his nerves showing plainly at the Dark Lord’s continued unimpressed, vaguely irritated expression. “At 2.47 PM on October 30th, an attack was carried out by the terrorist organisation calling themselves ‘The Order of the Phoenix’ at Diagon Alley in London. Several deadly spells such as ‘ _Animi Concitatione_ ’ and _‘Confringo’_ were fired by 20 unregistered wands. These blasts caused structural damage to parts of the Alley, specifically the entrance to Knockturn Alley and along the main boulevard. DEFence arrived five minutes later, at 2.52 PM to direct civilians away from danger and provide assistance to those injured. 207 people were evacuated from the Alley while other DEFence units engaged the Order,” he took a steadying breath. 

“At 2.56 PM, Your Lordship arrived on the scene, causing most of the Order to flee. Anti-Disapparition and Portkey-Disabling Wards were successfully set up over the entire Alley by a task force comprising officials from my Department, the Department of Magical Transportation, and Death Eaters, two minutes later. The seven trapped Order members were apprehended within fifteen minutes,” he concluded his report somewhat uneasily. 

The Dark Lord let the silence fester as he noted something down on the parchment in front of him. “You have not answered my second question.”

Fudge floundered for a moment, recalling the Dark Lord’s second question, “Ah- yes, r-regarding My Lord’s second question, St. Mungo’s Hospital had sent 20 healers after a request was made by DEFence for medical aid. The first team of healers arrived on the scene at 2.55 PM and immediately began triage operations by the Leaky Cauldron. The seriously injured were immediately evacuated to St. Mungo’s via the Floo Network to receive treatment. Our priority is to provide help to all affected people; yesterday evening, the Wizengamot signed a grant to set aside 65,000 galleons, and each deceased victim’s family will receive 2,000 galleons, severely injured victims will receive 800 galleons, and those with minor injuries will receive 400 galleons.”

The Dark Lord nodded. “Have the Search and Rescue operations concluded?”

“Operations have concluded with the five missing persons reported yesterday found. Two of whom have tragically died, and the other three currently warded in St. Mungo’s.” Silence resumed once again as the Dark Lord perused the parchment. 

After a few beats of silence, the Dark Lord asked with a frown, “How many people were in that task force?”

“Uh- 15, My Lord. Eight ward-masters from the DMAC, five Officials from the DMT, and two Death Eaters,” Fudge reported diligently.

The Dark Lord’s vague look of displeasure grew ever so slightly more pronounced when he heard that information. Those seated at the table hid their discomfort admirably well even with Lord Voldemort’s mounting ire. He set the quill down slowly. There was something to be said about the Dark Lord’s habit of taking his own notes during meetings that served both to unnerve his guests and deter would-be liars. Perhaps it was the knowledge that the man was scrutinising every word said with no outward signs of acknowledgement. 

Without looking up from the parchment placed in front of him, he questioned, “Why did it take the task force 11 minutes to set up wards over an area of-” he narrowed his eyes slightly as he gauged the rough size of Diagon Alley, “-eight hectares?”

The Head of Department appeared caught off-guard, but seemed to recover momentarily, and said, “A-All ten ward-masters have practical test scores within... within t-the 90th percentile, My L-ord.”

The Dark Lord dipped his head in a languid acknowledgement of their supposed prowess, though he said slowly, “And that is fine. But it is not the answer to my question. It would be reasonable for ten Hogwarts students to take 11 minutes, not 15 highly-trained, highly-specialised mages.”

The squat, middle-aged man swallowed visibly. “They are… statistically… the best ward-masters within the Ministry, My Lord-”

The Dark Lord interrupted with an impatient statement, “If you wish to look at statistics, Mr. Fudge, _statistically_ , 13 Order members escaped persecution after killing 14 and maiming 52 of our law-abiding civilians, not to mention causing over 30% of Diagon Alley to be closed for restoration,” Fudge seemed cowed by those numbers, realising he could not slide pointless numbers past Lord Voldemort. 

“Do you have an answer to why it took your task force so long to establish the wards?” The Dark Lord asked. 

Fudge’s wide-eye look of barely disguised terror made him look rather like a house-elf that just disobeyed their master. “I- I c-cannot be sure, My Lord,” he admitted, his voice just barely above a whisper. 

The Dark Lord glanced up at Fudge, his expressionless face barely flickering. “You are in a meeting about the Attack on Diagon Alley, Mr. Fudge. You should be aware, especially of such anomalies from your own Department,” he admonished softly. “If you ‘cannot be sure’, perhaps we need to find someone else that can,” he continued mildly as if he weren’t talking about destroying a man’s career and credibility with one comment. He looked at the witch at the end of the table, gesturing with his hand for her to speak.

“What has DEFence found?” He asked tersely.

“My Lord, as the Head of the Magical Accidents and Catastrophes Department has reported, the first DEFence unit arrived on the scene at 2.54 PM following an alert sent by patrols to the Head Office. A request was immediately made by the unit leader for ward-masters and healers,” the witch paused a little apprehensively. “My Lord, I would like to point out that it took the DMAC a… an abnormally long time to respond. Emergency protocols dictate that Departments should be on the scene within three minutes of mobilisation, though our later investigations have shown that the task force only arrived seven minutes later — more than two times-” she stuttered to a stop when the Dark Lord cut in to address Fudge.

“Who handled the deployment of manpower?” He demanded, the hard lines of his glaring countenance making the usually proud man shrink into himself. 

“I- I believe it- it was the-the uh… Deputy Head of o-our Counter-terrorism Office-”

“Give me a name.” 

Everyone seemed to hold their breath when those ominous words were uttered.

“W-Wilfred Perkins, My Lord…” The Dark Lord did not give much acknowledgement to the response, instead, turning to look at the witch.

“I trust DEFence will handle this appropriately?” 

“Yes, My Lord. You have my word,” she assured earnestly. He gave a soft hum of agreement. 

“What is the situation at St. Mungo’s?” He addressed the witch wearing the lime-green robes of a healer. 

“Of the 52 people reported injured, 38 have received outpatient treatment while 14 are currently warded in the hospital’s magical burn treatment facility. All of them are stable or improving. The most serious case is a 10-year-old boy who has severe burns after coming in direct contact with the fires of the curse, and subsequently received multiple crush-injuries from falling rubble.” 

The Dark Lord frowned, “Was no one watching him?” he asked. 

“I was told his parents had allowed him to visit Quality Quidditch Supplies while they completed their business elsewhere when the attack happened,” she reported neutrally.

“U-unfortunately, it seems that many guardians who were supposed to be watching their charges had left them unsupervised during the incident, which may have contributed to the higher injury count, My Lord,” Fudge interjected, eager to prove his usefulness and astuteness. 

The Dark Lord tapped his fingers on the desk, the rhythmic _clack_ of nails hitting the wooden surface the only sound in the silence as they waited for his opinion. “No,” he said at last, “It is a perfectly natural and safe practice but only if security measures and emergency protocols are in place and efficient,” Fudge bowed his head slightly; the rebuke was clear. “The fault here lies largely with the Order, but the damage done would not be this severe if appropriate steps had been taken at the right time. _That_ is your jurisdiction, Mr. Fudge. Simply because we have had relative peace for a decade does not mean you can neglect terrorism response.”

“If you can resolve this critical inefficiency to a satisfactory level together with DEFence, the Minister of Magic and I will review what will be done about this incompetence. If you fail…” he paused, tilting his head slightly, “We will think about that as well,” he said softly as he leaned back, though his casual demeanour did little to temper the dark undertone of his verdict. The initial look of barely-disguised terror on Fudge’s face returned.

“What can you tell us about the Gringotts security breach, Mr. Mockridge?” he asked, moving on to the wizard seated on his left. The middle-aged man dipped his head in a bow of respect before he gave his report. 

“The goblins maintain their independence in investigating the matter, as is their right. The spokes-goblin of the Diagon Alley branch of Gringotts has stated that the break-in is believed to be masterminded and carried out by the Order. They insist that nothing has been taken from their vaults and the compromised vaults not become public information. The Head Goblin Bogrod is open to discussing the matter further with you in private, My Lord.” 

The Dark Lord glanced at the man seated away from the table out of the corner of his eye, and the man dipped his head discreetly. Returning his attention to Mr. Mockridge, he nodded to the Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, informing him, “I will be in contact with them directly.” 

“The problems brought up today must be solved with haste. This attack cannot be a prelude to more devastation. There will be a follow-up where necessary. Thank you.” There was a slight commotion when the others scrambled to stand as the Dark Lord took his leave, his private-secretary following behind him.

* * *

For the rest of the day, Harry’s thoughts had been occupied by the Dark Lord and Marvolo… Well, they were the same person but they certainly can’t be reconciled together in Harry’s mind. Theo had been slightly freaked out by his contemplative stares into the distance, though he has been politely silent about it after Harry insisted he was fine and didn’t need to be brought back to the Hospital Wing for a more detailed diagnostic scan. 

“You know, you should probably go to sleep. You’ve been on that page for the past ten minutes,” Harry would have thought Hermione sounded condescending if not for having known her long enough to tell that she, too, was deeply concerned. He considered waving off her suggestion, enjoying the once-a-week study session in the library with the Ravenclaw, but felt a deep wave of fatigue when he refocused his eyes on the words of his Herbology textbook. 

He gave her an apologetic smile as he agreed, standing up with his bag and books in his arm. She stood too, moving around the table to hug him. “I’m so glad you’re fine. I can’t believe that happened,” she mumbled. 

“Me too…” he whispered as she released him. He stepped away, pulling his slipping bag strap back onto his shoulder, bidding her goodbye with an agreement to meet again next week.

It was still very early when he flopped onto his bed tiredly but despite his fatigue, he found himself staring at the ceiling over half an hour after he first lied down. He shut his eyes again, changing positions, but a memory from a year ago surfaced in his mind.

_“I will tell you something I learned early on. If you are unable to fall asleep, there is no point lying down— the harder you pursue sleep, the more elusive it becomes. Pick up a book, do your holiday assignments, practice what I taught you today, or better yet, uncover the source of your insomnia. The point is, there is a lot you can get done. Do not waste your time, Harry. Consider this a life lesson.”_

Was it ironic that the cause of his insomnia now also once gave him the cure? Harry shrugged, getting out of bed. He wasn’t going to sleep until he sent someone a letter. Pulling out a sheet of parchment from the second drawer of his bedside table and extracting a quill and his bottle of ink from his bag. Leaning over on his bed to the parchment on the bedside table, he began to write. 

With only forty minutes before curfew, Harry walked quickly to the Owlery. Holding out the letter to his owl, he apologised in a whisper, “Sorry girl, I forgot to bring you some treats.” She nipped his fingers, prompting him to apologise again, but took the letter in her beak anyway. “Bring this to Marvolo for me?” She let him stroke her feathers gently as he promised, “You’ll get those treats when you come back.”

He smiled as he watched her fly off, a white speck in the night sky, glad that his mind was no longer a jumble of thoughts about Marvolo and the Dark Lord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the coat of arms described in this chapter can be seen on my [Tumblr](https://potato-ladyy.tumblr.com/post/638105751275110400/potato-ladyy-ended-up-desigining-a-couple-of)


End file.
